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The  Overland  Monthly 

Vol.  L — Second  Series 

July-December,   1907 


The  OVERLAND  MONTHLY  CO.,  Publishers 

Offices — 773  Market  Street,  Sah  Francisco 


F 

. o 


INDEX 


.ALDIS    DUNBAR 
FREMONT    OLDER 

ALOYSIUS  COLL 
.ERNESTINE  WINCHELL 
CLYDE    EDWIN    TUCK 
MARY   E.    SNYDER 

STELLA   F.   WYNNE 

INA  COOLBRITH 
PIERRE    N.    BERINGER 


ADMONITION..      Verse.  

A    GLIMPSE    OF    THE    BATTLE 

Illustrated  with  photographs. 

A   WARNING..    Verse 

AN    EPISODE   OF   THE    FLOAT    LANDS.   Story 

AUGUST.     Verse 

A     TRIP     TO     CUERNAVACA          .... 

Illustrated  with   photographs. 
AN   IDYLL  OF  THE  CIRCLE  L.     Story 

Illustrated  by  W.  R.   Borough. 

ALCATRAZ    (A    New    Poem)  .... 

A    NEW    ERA    IN    THE    PHILIPPINES 

Illustrated  with   photographs. 
A     MEDIEVAL      ROMANCE  .... 

Illustrated  with  sketch  by  Alice  Resor. 
AT  THE  GOLDEN    HORN  AND  THE  GOLDEN    GATE  CLINTON    SCOLLARD 

Verse 

"BARBIZON"   OF   CALIFORNIA,  THE    (III.)    . 
BUCKAROO    JIM..     Story 

Illustrated  by  W.  R.   DeLappe 
CALL    OF    THE    WHISTLE,    THE.       Story 
CANDLE-STARS  OF  CHRISTMAS  TIME,  THE   Verse 
CONFESSIONS     OF     A     STENOGRAPHER 

Illustrated  with   photographs. 
CLIMBING    FUJI 

Illustrated  with   photographs. 

CAMPING    OUT    IN    CALIFORNIA          .... 

CHRISTENING,    THE.      Verse 

CHRISTMAS  STORY,  THE.  Verse  .... 
COLLEGE  AND  THE  WORLD  .... 

Illustrated  with   photographs. 

A    BUSINESS   MAN'S   VIEW    OF   COLLEGE      . 

JUST   OUT   OF   COLLEGE          .... 

WHY    I    AM    GOING   TO   COLLEGE 
COWBOYS     ASTRAY.     *Story 

Illustrated   by  W.   R.    Davenport 

CALIFORNIA.        Verse 

DAISY    FIELD,    THE     (Poem) 

DEATH    VALLEY  

DECORATING    DEL    MONTE    HEIGHTS     . 

Illustrated  with   photographs. 
DEFENDING    THE     PACIFIC    COAST 

Illustrated  with   photographs. 
DEATH    ON    THE    MARSHES..     Verse 
DIGNITY    OF    DOLLARS,    THE.       Essay     . 
DUMFRIES:    THE    HAMLET    OF    ROBERT    BURNS 

Illustrated  with  photographs. 
DR.    TAYLOR— SEVENTY    YEARS    YOUNG 
DRAMATICS.     The  New  World  of  the  Play 

Illustrated  with   photographs. 

DREAMS  OF  ARCADY.  Verse  ..... 
DOWN  AT  THE  WOMAN'S  CLUB..  Verse  .  . 
EUROPEAN  HOTELS  

Illustrated  with   photographs. 

EL     CAMINO     REAL.       Verse 

FORESTER    AND     HIS    WORK,    THE     (III) 
FREED    FROM    THE    DESPOT   OF    DAGH    (III.) 

FAME     TURNED     FLIRT 

FIGHTING    A    FORTY-POUND    WEAKFISH     (III.). 


24 
546 

118 
145 
156 
182 

361 

537 
463 

483 
504 


JOSEPHINE    MILDRED    BLANCH  63 

HERBERT    COOLIDGE  317 

JOHN    KENNETH    TURNER  603 

MARY   OGDEN   VAUGHAN  602 

101 

ANNIE  LAURA   MILLER  221 

ROCKWELL    D.    HUNT  236 

FLORENCE   RICHMOND  610 

MARY   OGDEN  VAUGHAN  586 

270 

HARRIS    WEINSTOCK  270 

DENISON    HALLEY    CLIFT  274 

BERTRAM    WELLS  278 

HERBERT    COOLIDGE  285 

ALMA   MARTIN  509 

EMMA  PLAYTER  SEABURY  80 

ALFRED   DAVIS  81 

WASHINGTON    DAVIS  119 

ARTHUR   H.    DUTTON  199 

RAYMOND  SUMNER  BARTLETT  292 

JACK   LONDON  592 

KATHERINE    ELWES    THOMAS  596 

L.    B.    JEROME  542 

JULIAN    JOHNSON  379 

BEN   FIELD  417 

"JAC  '    LOWELL  482 

FRED    GILBERT    BLAKESLEE  123 

M.   TINGLE  384 

ALLEN    H.    HODGSON  20 

FELIX  J.   KOCH  41 

F.   G.   MARTIN  49 

F.    L.    HARDING                                    •  53 


•471  U 

ffencroh  Libntfjr 


X  D  E  X. 


FRONTISPIECE 

FROM    TOKIO    TO    KOBE 

Illustrated  with   photographs. 

FRONTISPIECE. — Statue    of    Father    Junipero    Serra 
GIPSIES    OF    THE    SEA.      Verse  .... 

"GRANDMA"    VARNER    and    "TOMMY" 

Photograph  by  F.  P.  Stevens. 

HYPOCRISY.        Poem 

HIGH     PpLITICS    IN     OHIO  

Drawing  by  R.  W.  Borough. 
HON.    EDWARD    ROBESON    TAYLOR— A    PERSONAL 

APPRECIATION  

HOUSE    OF    SANTA    CLAUS,    THE.      Story 
HOW    THE    RECLAMATION    SERVICE    IS    ROBBING 
THE      SETTLER  .          .          . 

IN     SANCTUARY.       Poem 

IN  THE  LAIR  OF  THE  BEAR 

IN  THE  CANYON'S  DEPTHS.      V  erse 

IN   DEL  GADDO  PLACE.      Story  .... 

Illustrated   by  Clyde  Cooke. 
IN    NEW    SUMMER    LANDS ; 

Photographs  by  the  author. 
IN    THE    CALCIUM    LIGHT. 

Delmas — Always    a     Gentleman         .... 

The   New   Governor   of   New    Mexico 
IN     THE    CALCIUM     LIGHT. 

Mr.    Hearst    as   an    Employer 

Illustrated  with   Portrait. 

IN    THE    REALM    OF    BOOKLAND          .... 
KELLEY     OF     THE     TRANS-MOJAVE 

Illustrated   with   photographs. 

LETTERS.        Poem  

LITTLE  MUSKY'S  STORY.     Story         .... 

Illustrated  by  Eloise   J.   Roorbach. 
LOVE'S    AWAKING.       Verse  .      .    . 

MY     PLACE.       Verse 

MONTEREY   WAKES   UP 

MY  MYSTERIOUS  PATIENT 

NEGLECT.     Verse  

NEW    OIL    WELLS    AT    MONTEREY 

Illustrated  with   photographs. 

ON  SAN   GABRIEL'S  BANKS  .          .          ... 

ON    THE    HOME    TRAIL.      Story  .... 

OVER    THE    HILLS.      Verse  .         .         .         .         . 

OBSCURITY.     Verse 

OUR     SURFMEN          

Photographs  furnished  by  S.  I.  Kimball. 

OCTOBER.      Verse  

ON   THE  OREGON   TRAIL.      Story         .... 

PEDDLERS  AND    PACK    HORSES    IN    MEXICO    (III.) 
PATIENCE    OF    JOB,    THE     ...... 

PRESENTING  JULY'S  ACTRESSES  AND  ACTORS 
PORTRAIT    OF    FRANCIS    J.     HENEY 

Drawn  by  R.  W.  Borough. 
PETER    PAN.      Verse         .          .         .         . 
"PERSONALLY     CONDUCTED"  .... 

Illustrated  by  R.  E.  Snodgrass. 
PROTECTED     CRUISER      MILWAUKEE      . 
PERILS    OF    BIG    GAME    HUNTING     .          . 

Illustrated  with   photographs. 
REBUILDING   OF  THE    BURNED    DISTRICT   OF    SAN 

FRANCISCO    (III.)  .... 

REMINISCENCES     OF     SAN      FRANCISCO 
REFLECTIONS.      Editorial    Comment 

RESTITUTION.       Verse 

RUDOLPH     SPRECKELS— THE     GENIUS     OF    THE 

SAN    FRANCISCO  GRAFT  PROSECUTION 

Illustrated   with    Portrait. 
RUEF,    A    JEW    UNDER    TORTURE      .... 

Illustrated  with  Portrait. 

SIEGFRIED— OF   THE   CHICORICA    RANGE     Story 
TACOMA— FOR     AMBITIOUS     MEN      .          . 

Illustrated   with   photographs. 

"Railways   for    Tacoma,"    by    R.    F.    Radebaugh. — "A 

roofe,  A.   R.    I.   B.  A. — "What   Made  Tacoma,"    by   C. 

City,"   by  Arnott   Woodroofe. 


E  RAWING  BY   L.    B.   HASTE  294 

CHARLES    LORRIMER  309 

396 

RAYMOND    BARTLETT  168 

ELIZABETH    A.    KELLY  255 

SAMUEL   G.    HOFFENSTEIN  40 

WASHINGTON  DAVIS  209 

PETER    ROBERTSON  539 

MAY    C.    RINGWALT  581 

L.  M.   HOLT  510 
CHARLES    FRANCIS    SAUNDERS       76 

M.    GRIER    KIDDER  91 

AD.  H.  GIBSON  144 

EDITH  KESSLER  170 


FELIX  J.  KOCH 


BY    ONE   OF   HIS   EMPLOYEES 


FELIX  J.  KOCH 

DONALD  V.   TOBEY 
CLARENCE  HAWKES 

DONALD  A.    ERASER 
MABEL  PORTER  PITTS 
WASHINGTON  DAVIS 
BETTY  PARKER   SMITH 
W.    G.    TINCKOM-FERNANDEZ 
BURTON  WALLACE 

H.   FELIX  CROSS 

MAUDE  DE  COU 

HELEN  FITZGERALD   SANDERS 

DONALD  B.   TOBEY 

JOANNA  NICHOLLS  KYLE 


MARION  COOK 

FRANK  H.   SWEET 

G.    F.    PAUL 

JAMES    WILLIAM    JACKSON 


238 


471 
473 

557 

520 
139 

57 
247 

328 
207 
391 
513 
210 
522 

19 
123 
186 
259 
260 


293 
367 
25 
69 
85 
FRONTISPIECE 


W.   G.   T1NCKOM  FERNANDEZ 
W.    GILMORE    EEYMER 


188 
190 


COL.   W.   S.    LANIER 


FRONTISPIECE 
455 


CHARLTON  LAWRENCE  EDHOLM  56 
THE  EDITOR  194 

337 


ARNO  DOSCH 
"Q.- 
ETHEL SHACKELFORD 
HENRY  PEARSON 

City   of    Homes,"    by   Arnott   Wood- 
E.    Ferguson. — "Tacoma — A    Garden 


477 

I 

514 

587 
561 


F 

,0-4$ 


v,  TO 


INDEX 


.ALDIS    DUNBAR 
FREMONT    OLDER 

ALOYSIUS  COLL 
.ERNESTINE  WINCHELL 
CLYDE    EDWIN    TUCK 
MARY   E.    SNYDER 

STELLA    F.    WYNNE 

INA  COOLBRITH 
PIERRE    N.    BERINGER 

MARK  TWAIN 


ADMONITION..      Verse.  

A    GLIMPSE    OF   THE    BATTLE 

Illustrated  with  photographs. 

A   WARNING..    Verse 

AN    EPISODE    OF   THE    FLOAT    LANDS.    Story 

AUGUST.     Verse 

A     TRIP     TO     CUERNAVACA          .... 

Illustrated  with   photographs. 
AN   IDYLL  OF  THE  CIRCLE  L.     Story 

Illustrated  by  W.  R.   Borough. 

ALCATRAZ    (A    New    Poem)  .... 

A    NEW    ERA    IN    THE    PHILIPPINES 

Illustrated  with   photographs. 
A     MEDIEVAL      ROMANCE  .... 

Illustrated  with  sketch  by  Alice  Resor. 

AT  THE   GOLDEN    HORN   AND  THE   GOLDEN    GATE  CLINTON    SCOLLARD 

Verse 

"BARBIZON"   OF   CALIFORNIA,  THE    (III.)    . 
BUCKAROO    JIM..     Story 

Illustrated  by  W.  R.   DeLappe 
CALL    OF    THE    WHISTLE,    THE.       Story 
CANDLE-STARS  OF  CHRISTMAS  TIME,  THE   Verse 
CONFESSIONS     OF     A     STENOGRAPHER 

Illustrated  with   photographs. 
CLIMBING    FUJI ' 

Illustrated  with   photographs. 
CAMPING    OUT    IN    CALIFORNIA          .... 

CHRISTENING,   THE.      Verse 

CHRISTMAS    STORY,    THE.       Verse     .... 
COLLEGE    AND    THE     WORLD  .... 

Illustrated  with   photographs. 

A    BUSINESS    MAN'S   VIEW    OF    COLLEGE      . 

JUST   OUT  OF   COLLEGE         .... 

WHY    I    AM    GOING   TO    COLLEGE 
COWBOYS     ASTRAY,     "story 

Illustrated   by  W.   R.    Davenport 

CALIFORNIA.        Verse 

DAISY    FIELD,    THE     (Poem) 

DEATH    VALLEY  

DECORATING    DEL    MONTE    HEIGHTS     . 

Illustrated  with   photographs. 
DEFENDING     THE     PACIFIC     COAST 

Illustrated   with   photographs. 
DEATH    ON    THE    MARSHES..     Verse 
DIGNITY    OF    DOLLARS,    THE.       Essay     . 
DUMFRIES:    THE    HAMLET    OF    ROBERT    BURNS 

Illustrated  with   photographs. 
DR.    TAYLOR— SEVENTY    YEARS    YOUNG 
DRAMATICS.     The  New  World  of  the  Play 

Illustrated   with   photographs. 
DREAMS  OF  ARCADY.   Verse         . 
DOWN    AT   THE   WOMAN'S  CLUB..    Verse 
EUROPEAN      HOTELS     

Illustrated  with   photographs. 

EL     CAMINO     REAL.       Verse 

FORESTER    AND    HIS    WORK,    THE    (III) 
FREED    FROM    THE    DESPOT    OF    DAGH    (III.) 

FAME     TURNED     FLIRT 

FIGHTING    A    FORTY-POUND    WEAKFISH     (III.). 


21 
546 

118 
145 
156 

182 

361 

537 
463 

483 
504 


JOSEPHINE    MILDRED    BLANCH  63 

HERBERT    COOLIDGE  317 

JOHN    KENNETH    TURNER  603 

MARY   OGDEN   VAUGHAN  602 

101 

ANNIE  LAURA  MILLER  221 

ROCKMrELL   D.    HUNT  236 

FLORENCE   RICHMOND  610 

MARY   OGDEN  VAUGHAN  586 

270 

HARRIS    WEINSTOCK  270 

DENISON    HALLEY    CLIFT  274 

BERTRAM    WELLS  278 

HERBERT    COOLIDGE  285 

ALMA   MARTIN  509 

EMMA  PLAYTER  SEABURY  80 

ALFRED   DAVIS  81 

WASHINGTON    DAVIS  119 

ARTHUR   H.    DUTTON  199 

RAYMOND  SUMNER  BARTLETT  292 

JACK   LONDON  592 

KATHERINE    ELWES    THOMAS  596 

L.    B.    JEROME  542 

JULIAN    JOHNSON  379 

BEN   FIELD  417 

"JAG'    LOWELL  482 

FRED   GILBERT    BLAKESLEE  123 

M.   TINGLE  384 

ALLEN    H.    HODGSON  20 

FELIX  J.   KOCH  41 

F.   G.   MARTIN  49 

F.    L.    HARDING                                    •  53 


471  12 

JBftncruti  Libraqr 


X  D  E  X. 


FRONTISPIECE 

FROM    TOKIO    TO    KOBE 

illustrated  with   photographs. 

FRONTISPIECE. — Statue    of    Father    Junipero    Serra 
GIPSIES    OF    THE    SEA.      Verse  .... 

"GRANDMA"     VARNER    and    "TOMMY" 
Photograph  by  F.  P.   Stevens. 

HYPOCRISY.        Poem 

HIGH     PpLITICS     IN     OHIO  

Drawing  by  R.  W.  Borough. 
HON.    EDWARD    ROBESON    TAYLOR— A    PERSONAL 

APPRECIATION  

HOUSE    OF    SANTA    CLAUS,    THE.      Story 
HOW    THE    RECLAMATION    SERVICE    IS    ROBBING 
THE      SETTLER  .          .          . 

IN     SANCTUARY.       Poem 

IN  THE  LAIR  OF  THE  BEAR 

IN   THE   CANYON'S   DEPTHS.      V  erse 
IN    DEL  GADDO  PLACE.      Story  .... 

Illustrated  by  Clyde  Cooke. 

IN    NEW    SUMMER    LANDS ; 

Photographs  by  the  author. 
IN    THE    CALCIUM    LIGHT. 

Delmas — Always    a     Gentleman         .         .         .         . 
The    New   Governor   of   New    Mexico 
IN     THE    CALCIUM     LIGHT. 

Mr.    Hearst    as   an    Employer 

Illustrated  with   Portrait. 

IN    THE    REALM    OF    BOOKLAND          .... 
KELLEY    OF    THE    TRANS-MOJAVE 
Illustrated  with   photographs. 

LETTERS.        Poem  

LITTLE  MUSKY'S  STORY.     Story         .... 

Illustrated  by  Eloise   J.   Roorbach. 
LOVE'S    AWAKING.       Verse  ... 

MY     PLACE.       Verse 

MONTEREY   WAKES    UP          

MY  MYSTERIOUS  PATIENT 

NEGLECT.     Verse  . 

NEW    OIL   WELLS    AT    MONTEREY 

Illustrated  with   photographs. 
ON  SAN   GABRIEL'S  BANKS  .          .          . 

ON    THE    HOME    TRAIL.      Story  .... 

OVER    THE    HILLS.       Verse  .         .         .         .         . 

OBSCURITY.     Verse 

OUR     SURFMEN          

Photographs  furnished  by  S.  I.  Kimball. 

OCTOBER.      Verse  

ON   THE  OREGON   TRAIL.      Story         .... 
PEDDLERS  AND    PACK    HORSES    IN    MEXICO    (III.) 

PATIENCE    OF    JOB,    THE 

PRESENTING  JULY'S  ACTRESSES  AND  ACTORS 
PORTRAIT    OF     FRANCIS    J.     HENEY 

Drawn  by  R.  W.  Borough. 
PETER    PAN.      Verse         .          .         .         . 
"PERSONALLY     CONDUCTED"  .... 

Illustrated  by  R.  E.  Snodgrass. 
PROTECTED     CRUISER      MILWAUKEE      . 
PERILS    OF    BIG    GAME    HUNTING      .... 
Illustrated  with   photographs. 

REBUILDING   OF  THE    BURNED    DISTRICT  OF    SAN 

FRANCISCO    (III.)  .... 

REMINISCENCES     OF     SAN      FRANCISCO 
REFLECTIONS.      Editorial    Comment 

RESTITUTION.        Verse 

RUDOLPH     SPRECKELS— THE     GENIUS     OF    THE 

SAN    FRANCISCO  GRAFT  PROSECUTION 

Illustrated   with    Portrait. 
RUEF,    A    JEW    UNDER    TORTURE      .... 

Illustrated  with  Portrait. 

SIEGFRIED— OF   THE   CHICORICA   RANGE     Story 
TACOMA— FOR     AMBITIOUS     MEN      .          . 

Illustrated   with   photographs. 

"Railways   for   Tacoma,"   by    R.    F.    Radebaujh. — "A 

roofe,  A.    R.    I.    B.   A. — "What   Made  Tacoma,"    by   C. 

City,"    by   Arnott    Woodroofe. 


E RAWING   BY   L.    B.    HASTE 
CHARLES    LORRIMER 


RAYMOND    BARTLETT 
ELIZABETH    A.    KELLY 

SAMUEL   G.    HOFFENSTEIN 
WASHINGTON   DAVIS 

PETER    ROBERTSON 
MAY    C.    RINGWALT 

L.  M.   HOLT 

CHARLES    FRANCIS    SAUNDERS 

M.    GRIER    KIDDER 

AD.  H.  GIBSON 

EDITH  KESSLER 

.  FELIX  J.  KOCH 


BY    ONE   OF   HIS    EMPLOYEES 


FELIX  J.  KOCH 

DONALD  V.   TOBEY 
CLARENCE  HAWKES 

DONALD  A.    FRASER 
MABEL  PORTER  PITTS 
WASHINGTON  DAVIS 
BETTY  PARKER  SMITH 
W.    G.    TINCKOM-FERNANDEZ 
BURTON  WALLACE 

H.   FELIX  CROSS 

MAUDE  DE  COLT 

HELEN  FITZGERALD   SANDERS 

DONALD  B.   TOBEY 

JOANNA  NICHOLLS  KYLE 


MARION  COOK 

FRANK   H.    SWEET 

G.    F.    PAUL 

JAMES    WILLIAM    JACKSON 


294 
309 

396 
168 
255 

40 
209 

539 

581 

510 

76 

91 

144 

170 

238 


471 

473 


557 


293 
367 
25 
69 
85 
FRONTISPIECE 


W.  G.   T1NCKOM  FERNANDEZ 
W.    GILMORE    BFJYMER 


188 
190 


COL.   W.    S.    LANIER 


FRONTISPIECE 
455 


CHARLTON  LAWRENCE  EDHOLM  56 

THE  EDITOR  194 

337 


ARNO  DOSCH 
"Q.- 
ETHEL SHACKELFORD 
HENRY  PEARSON 

City   of    Homes,"    by   Arnott   Wood- 
E.    Ferguson. — "Tacoma — A    Garden 


477 
I 

514 


587 
561 


r  x  D  E  x. 


THEATRE    OF    OSCAR    WILDE,    THE 

TANGENT    OF    A    TiFF,    THE 

THE    FIRST    ASCENT    OF    MT.    SHUKSAN 

Illustrated   with   photographs. 
THE     PRINCESS.       Verse 


THE   SKY   AND   THE   SEA   AND  THE    EARTH.    Verse      S.  M.   SALYER 


ARCHIBALD     HKXDERSON 
LIZZIE    GAINES    WILCOXSON 
ASAHEL  CURTIS 

ALPHONSO    BENJAMIN   BOWERS 


THE   EXILE.      Verse 

THE   MRS.  AND   I   VISIT  PISA 

Illustrated   with   photographs. 
TO    MT.    TAMALPAIS.       Verse 
THE    LOVE    OF    CHANCE.       Story 
THE  WESTERN    CALL.      Verse  . 
THE   SUCKERS'   SATURDAY    NIGHT.      Story 
THE    ROMANCE   OF  TANKY  GULCH.      Story 
THE    PASSING    pF    THE    BUFFALO      . 

Illustrated   with    photographs. 
THE   RED   HEADED  TWINS  OF   DOS   PALOS. 

Illustrated  by  W.  R.  Davenport. 

THE   LAND  OF  ART,  SPORT  AND  PLEASURE 
THE  REVENGE  OF  THE  BLUE  HORDE.  Story 

Illustrated   by  W.   R.   Davenport 

THE     ENDING.       Story  

THE     MAN     WHp     INSPIRED    "RAMONA" 

Illustrated    with    photographs. 
THE    GOLD   OF    SUN    DANCE   CANYON 

Illustrated  by  Clyde  Cooke 
THE     SALT     OF     EARTH 

Illustrated  by  L.  B.  Haste. 
THE   BIG   BASIN          .          . 

Illustrated  by  the  author. 
THE    DES    MOINES    PLAN    OF    CITY    GOVERNMENT 

THE    NEMESIS.       Story 

THE    ICEBERG'S   BIRTH.      Verse  .... 

EDWIN    MARKHAM    AND    HIS  ART     .... 

Illustrated  with  portraits. 
TEN  CENTS  TO  THE  FERRY 

Illustrated  by  W.   R.   Davenport. 
THE  SANTA   BARBARA   MISSION          .... 

Illustrated  With  drawings  and  photographs. 
THANK    GOD    FER    "CALIFORNY"     .... 

TO   A   WILD    ROSE.      Verse 

THE     ANGELUS.       Verse 

Heard  at.  the  Mission  Dolores,  1868. 
THE   PACIFIC  COAST  AND  THE   PANAMA  CANAL 

Illustrated  with  photographs. 

THE     POET.        Verse 

THE    VENGEANCE    OF    THE   WILD     .... 

TO    PERCY    BYSSHE  'SHELLEY.      Verse 

THE  SHELL    MAN 

Illustrated  with  line  drawings. 

UNLIMITED    ELECTRIC    POWER          .... 
UNCLE    ABE'S    DAY    DREAM.       Verse 

I 'ra  wings  by  R.  E.  Snodgrass. 
UMEKO  SAN.      Story 

Illustrated  by  R.  E.   Schad. 
"UNTO    THE     LEAST    OF    THESE"     .... 

Illustrated   with   photographs. 
VILLA    LIFE    ON    CAPRI 

Illustrated    with    photographs. 

WILD  APPLE    BLOSSOMS.      Poem          .... 
WITH     OVERLAND'S    POETS. 

"The    Muezzin,"    by    James    Berry    Bensel. — "Our    Teddy." — "To    a     Pioneer,"    by     Helen 

Fitzgerald   Sanders. — "How  Vain   is   Life,"  translation   by   Blanche   M.    Burbank. — "This   is 

Wisdom,"    by   John    Thorpe. — "St.    Christopher,"   by    Raymond    Sumner   Bartlett. — "I    Had 

a    Dream    of    Mary"    (III.)    by    Ruth    Sterry. — "A    Melody,"    by    Myrtle   Conger. 

WEST,    THE.       Poem C.    S.   COLEMAN 

WORLD'S    GREATEST    TELESCOPE,    THE     (III.)  FLORENCE    CROSBY    PARSONS 

WIND   ON    THE    SEA.      Verse 

WAR    AND    THE    COMMODORE  .... 

Drawings  by  R.   E.   Snodgrass. 
WHERE    THE    ORIENT     MEETS    THE    OCCIDENT 

Illustrated   with   photographs. 
WHAT    THE    CATHOLIC    CHURCH    HAS    DONE    FOR 

SAN      FRANCISCO HAMILTON    \VKICHT  AND 

Illustrated    with    photographs.  F.    MARION    GALLEGHER 

WASTED    SWEETS.       Verse HENRY   WALDORF    FRANCIS 

WHAT    THE    BOY    KNOWS.       Verse 

"YO    NO    QUIERO    CASAR."       Verse  .         .  AGNES  M.  MANNING 


F.  W.  K. 

WALT  INGERSOLL 

RUTH  PRICE 

A.  E.  LONG 

MADELINE   HUGHES   PELTON 

CHARLTON  L.  EDHOLM 

ELIZABETH   LAMBERT   WOOD 

JASON  J.  JONES 

Story     FRANCES  LA  PLACE 

ARTHUR  H.   BUTTON 
CLARENCE  HAWKES 

JENNET  JOHNSON 
LOUIS  J.   STELLMAXX 

C.  JUSTIN  KENNEDY 
ROBERT  W.  HARTWELL 
ELOISE  J.   ROORBACK 

SIDNEY   J.    DILLON 
DON  MARK  LEMON 
CHARLOTTE  W.   THURSTON 
HENRY   MEADE   BLAND 

LEO  LEVY 
SAMUEL  NEWSOM 

ALICE   D.    O.   GREENWOOD 
FLORENCE    SLACK    CRAWFORD 


JOSEPH  R.  KNOWLAND 

DONALD  A.  FRAZER 
HERBERT  ARTHUR  STOUT 
LANNIE    HAYNES   MARTIN 
AMANDA  MATHEWS 

Bl'KTOX  WALLACE 
JAY  C.   POWERS' 

OLIVE    DIBERT 
KATHERIXK    M.    NESFIELD 


MARGARET  ASHMUN 


ARTHUR    POWELL 
HORATIO    LANKFORD    KING 


HAL.  JACKSON 


77 
110 

544 
122 
127 
131 

133 
134 
138 
149 
153 
157 

163 

176 
178 

233 
252 


301 

324 
329 

331 
333 

350 

360 

377 
395 

119 

454 
186 
482 

505 

289 
322 

343 

549 

493 

32 


68 

73 

246 

371 

385 


397 

461 
470 
475 


Rebuilding    Views    of    New    San    Francisco 
The  Theatre  of  Oscar  Wilde 


BY  ARCHIBALD  HENDERSON 


The    "Barbizon"    of   California 

BI  JOSEPHINE  MILDRED  BLANCH 


15  CENTS 


SAN  FRANCISCO 


Teresa 


Carreno 


During  her  1907-08  American  Tour 

will  exploit  the  merits  of  the  lEfcerrtt  Piano, 
which  in  its  rich  tonal  quality  —  its  plenitude 
of  artistic  and  poetic  beauty — appeals  to  the 
world's  great  artists. 

The  lEfamtt  is  the  piano  of  CARRENO, 
Neitzel,  Reisenauer,  Burmeister,  Nordlca, 
Bispham,  Cabrilowitsch,  Gampanari  and  a 
host  of  others  whose  places  are  secure  in 
Music's  Hall  of  Fame. 


The  tiftittttt  has  but  one  standard — the  highest — in  both  Upright  and  ,Grand  formp. 
The  (j£b0t£tt  warranty,  given  with  each  piano,  covers  not  a  few  years  but  the  entire  lifetime 
of  the  piano. 


Style      3  —  Upright 

t  Factory,  Boston  — 
$450  00 

500  00 

Style      9  —  Upright     . 

500  00 

Style      8  —  Upright 

530  00 

Style      7  —  Upright 

575  00 

Style  25  —  Grand 

650  00 

Style  31—  Grand 

.    .     .         800  00 

1000  00 

Style   41  —  Grand 

.     .       1200  00 

Special  Art  Cat 

icsfrom  $1.000  to  $10,000 

A  Word  About  Terms 

Our  arrangement  with  dealers  is  such  that  purchase 
may  be  made  on  reasonable  terms  to  suit  the  circum- 
.stances  or  convenience  of  the  customer. 


Style  32 


THE  JOHN  CHURCH  COMPANY 

CINCINNATI  CHICAGO 

Owners  of  The  Everett  Piano  Co.,  Boston,  Mass. 


NEW  YORK 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    in    Writing   Advertisers. 


TIFFANY  &  Co. 

Fifth  Avenue  and  37th  Street,  New  York 

Loving  Cups 

A  large  assortment  of  sterling  silver  loving  cups  in  Tiffany  &  Co.'s 

exclusive  designs,  not  sold  by  the  trade  or  through  other  dealers 

English  Sterling  Quality,  925/1000  fine 

4^  inches  high,  3  handles      -  $18 

5  "     2      "  24 

6  "3      "  38 
Others                                                          $45,  $70,  $85  upward 
Special  drawings,  upon  short  notice,  of  prizes  suitable  for  coaching 
parades,  motor  boat  races,  tennis,  golf,  etc. 

Bowls 

for  fruit,  salads,  berries,  etc.  Sterling  silver  with  rich  relief  work 
in  substantial  weights 

9     inches  diameter  $20 

"           "  28 

""  ...                   36 

50 

Photographs  sent  upon  request 

Comparison  of  Prices 

Tiffany  &  Co.  always  welcome  a  comparison  of  prices.  This  ap- 
plies to  their  entire  stock  of  rich  as  well  as  inexpensive  jewelry, 
silverware,  watches,  clocks,  bronzes,  and  other  objects,  on  all  of 
which  their  prices  are  as  reasonable  as  is  consistent  with  the 
standard  of  quality  maintained  by  the  house 

Tiffany  &  Co.   1907  Blue  Book 

A  compact  catalogue  without  illustrations— 621  pages  of  concise 
descriptions  with  an  alphabetical  side  index  affording  quick  access 
to  the  wide  range  of  Tiffany  &  Co.'s  stock,  with  the  minimum  and 
maximum  prices  at  which  articles  may  be  purchased. — Blue  Book 
sent  upon  request 

Fifth  Avenue  New^brk 


15  Cents  Per  Copy.  $1.50  Per  Year. 

Overland  Monthly 

An  Illustrated  Magazine  of  the  West. 

July,  1907 

Rebuilding  of  the  Burned  District  of  San  Francisco   (111.)    1 

Theatre  of  Oscar  Wilde,  The Archibald  Henderson 9 

On  San  Gabriel's  Banks //.  Felix  Cross  19 

Forester  and  his  Work,  The  (111.)   Allen  H.  Hodgson    20 

Admonition  (Poem)    Aldis  Dnnbar  24 

Peddlers  and  Pack  Horses  in  Mexico  (111.) .  .  0-.  F.  Paul   25 

Wild  Apple  Blossoms  (Poem)    Margaret  Ashmun   32 

Stuff  that  was  in  Him,  The Ara  Shane  Curtis 33 

Hypocrisy  (Poem) Samuel   G.   Hoffenstein    40 

Freed  from  the  Despot  of  Dagh  (111.) .  .  .Felix  J.  Koch    41 

Fame  Turned  Flirt F.  G.  Martin  49 

Fighting  a  Forty-Pound  Weakfish  (111.)  .F.  L.  Harding   53 

Eeminiscences   of   San   Francisco Charlton  Lawretue  Edholtn    56 

Letters   (Poem) Donald  V.  Tobey  57 

Sea  Foam   (111.)    E.J.R 58 

Sheepherder's  Nemesis,  The Colin  V.  Dyment 60 

"Barbizon"  of  California,  The    (111.) . .  .Josephine  Mildred  Blanch    63 

West,  The   (Poem)    C.  8.  Coleman   6S 

Patience  of  Job,  The James  William  Jackson   69 

World's  Greatest  Telescope,  The  (111.) .  .Florence  Crosby  Parsons  .  . .  .• 73 

In  Sanctuary  (Poem)    Charles  Francis  Sounders 76 

Tangent  of  a  Tiff,  The Lizzie  Gaines  Wttco.rson   77 

Daisy  Field,  The  (Poem)   Emma  Playter  Seabury    80 

Death  Valley    Alfred  Davis    ' 81 

Ships,  The  (Poem)    Aloysius  Coll    84 

Presenting  July's  Actresses  and  Actors 85 

In  the  Lair  of  the  Bear  .  .  .M.  Grier  Kidder   91 


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It  is  advisable  to  keep  a  copy  of  all  manuscripts  submitted.  Every  care  will  be  used  by  the 
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1879. 

Address  all  communications  to 

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Copyrighted,  1907,  by  the  Overland  Monthly  Co. 


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Ill 


CORSETS 

$  LOO  to  $3.5O 


BON  TON 

CORSETS 


-to*75O 


Combine  features  of  Style 
and  Fit  which  make  them  the 
choice  of  Modistes  wherever 
fine  dressmaking  is 


A     FAIR     OFFER! 


to  convince 


DYSPEPTICS 

and    those   suffering  from 

Stomach  Troubles 

of  the  efficiency    of 


SOLD  BY  ALL  LEADING  DEALERS  ON  THE  PACIFIC  COAST 


I  will  send  a 


$1.00  BOTTLE  FREE 


to  a  family 


to  any  one  NAMING  THIS  MAGAZINE,  and 
enclosing  25c.  to  pay  forwarding  charges.  This 
offer  is  made  t.o  demonstrate  Lhe  efficiency 
of  t»his  remedy. 

Glycozone  is  absolutely  harmless. 

It  cleanses  the  lining  membrane  of  the  stom- 
ach and  thus  subdues  inflammation,  thus  helping 
nature  to  accomplish  a  cure. 

GLYCOZONE  cannot  fail  to  help  you,  and 
will  not  harm  you  in  the  least. 

Indorsed  and  successfully  used  by  leading 
physicians  for  over  15  years. 

Sold  by  leading  druggists.  None  genuine 
without  my  signature. 


Chemist  and  Graduate  of  the   "Ecole   Centrale  des  Arts  et  Manu- 
facture; de  Paris,"  (France). 

57  Prince  Street,  New  York  City, 

FREEl-Vaiuable  booklet  on  how  to  treat  diseases. 


Iv 


Please     Mention    Overland     Monthly    In    Writing    Advertisers. 


Every  reader  of  Overland  Monthly  should  have  this  book. 


FACTS  and  FORMS 


A  HAND  BOOK  OF 

READY  REFERENCE 


BY  PROFESSOR  E.  T.  ROE,  LL.  B. 

A  neat,  new,  practical,  reliable  and  up-to-date  little  manual 
of  legal  and  business  form,  with  tables,  weights,  measures, 
rules,  short  methods  of  computation  and  miscellaneous  infor- 
mation valuable  to  every  one. 

Describes  the  Banking  System  of  the  United   States,   obliga- 
tions of  landlord  and  tenant,   employer  and  employee,  and  ex- 
poses the  numerous  swindling  schemes  worked  on  the  unwary. 

A  saver  of  time  and  money  for  the  busy  man  of  whatever 
calling,  in  fees  for  advice  and  legal  forms,  in  correctly  esti- 
mating the  amount  of  material  required  for  a  building,  the 
weight  or  contents  of  bins,  boxes  or  tanks;  in  measuring  land, 
lumber,  logs,  wood,  etc.;  and  in  computing  interest,  wages, 
or  the  value  of  anything  at  any  given  price. 

SOME    OP    WHAT    "  FACTS    AND    FORMS  "    CONTAINS. 

Bookkeeping,  single  and  double  emtry.  Forms  of  every  kind 
of  business  letter.  How  to  write  deeds,  notes,  drafts,  checks, 
receipts,  contracts,  leases,  mortgages,  acknowledgments,  bills 
of  sale,  affidavits,  bills  of  lading,  etc. 

How  to  write  all  the  different  forms  of  endorsements  of 
notes,  checks  and  other  negotiable  business  papers.  Forms 
of  orders. 


LAWS  GOVERNING 

Acknowledgments,  agency  assign- 
ments, building  and  loan  associations, 
collection  of  debts,  contracts,  interest 
rates,  deeding  of  property,  employer 
and  employee,  landlord  and  tenant, 
neighbors'  animals,  line  fences,  prop- 
erty, subscriptions,  transportation, 
trusts  and  monopolies,  working  on 
Sundays  and  legal  holidays,  and  many 
other  subjects. 


RULES  FOR 

Painting  and  mixing  paints,  parlia- 
mentary procedure,  governing  the  find- 
ing of  lost  property,  shipping,  govern- 
ing chattel  moitgages,  rapid  addition 
and  multiplication,  discounting  notes, 
computing  interest,  finding  the  con- 
tents of  barrels,  tanks,  cisterns,  cribs, 
bins,  boxes — anything,  the  amount  of 
brick,  lime,  plaster,  lath  required  for 
building  wall  or  cellar,  the  number  of 
shingles  or  slats  required  for  roofing 
and  hundreds  of  other  things. 


A  Swindling  Note-Be  On  Your  Guard-Hundreds  Have  Been  Caught 

One  year  after  date,  I  promise  to  pay  to  John  Dawson  or  bearer  Fifty  Dollars  when  I  sell  by 
order  Five  Hundred  and  Seventy-Five  Dollars  ($575)  worth  of  hedge  plants 
or  value  received,  with  interest  at  seven  per  cent.  Said  Fifty  Dollars  when  due  is 
payable  at  Newton,  Kan. 

GEO.  W.  ELLSWORTH. 

Agent  for  John  Dawson. 
SEE    "FACTS  "AND    FORMS"  FOR   FULL  EXPLANATION 


Every  reader  of  the  Overland  Monthly  can  secure  a  copy  of  "Facts  and 
Forms,"  a  book  worth  $1,  by  sending  30  cents  with  his  name  and  address 
to  the  Publishers,  905  Lincoln  avenue,  Alameda,  Cat. 


Please  Mention  Overland  Monthly  In  Writing  Advertisers. 


fl  Think  of  the  number  of  typewriters 
that  seemed  popular  a  few  years  ago. 

€J  Think  of  the  different  ones  seeking 
public  favor  today. 

CJThen  think  of  the  Remington, 
which  has  been  the  standard  since 
typewriters  were  invented  and  which 
maintains  its  supremacy  solely  through 
lasting  merit. 

CJThe  man  who  seeks  experience 
may  seek  it  anywhere,  but  the  man 
who  heeds  experience  buys  the 

Remington 

<JHave  you  tried  the  new  Remington  escapement? 
It  will  be  a  revelation  to  you  of  the  latest 
and  best  in  typewriter  achievement. 


Remington  Typewriter  Company 

New  York  and  Everywhere 


Please     Mention     Overland     Monthly     in     Writing     Advertisers. 


PURE  AND  WHOLESOME 

All  of  BORDEN'S  products  compljr  in  every 
respect  with  the  National  Pure  Food  and 
Drugs  Act  of  June  30,  1906,  against  adultera- 
tion and  mis-branding,  and  in  accordance 
with  Department  ruling  we  have  filed  our 
STANDARD  GUARANTEE  at  Washing- 
ton-No. 165. 

Borden's  Condensed  Milk  Co. 

Established  1857  "LEADERS  OF  QUALITY"  New  York 


LIME 


Telephone  Temporary  2647 

Western  Building  Material  Company 

340  Steuart  Street  San  Francisco 


BRICK 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    in    Writing    Advertisers.  vll 


American  Tapestry  and  Decorative  Company 

273  Fifth  Avenue  Near  30th  St.  New  York 

TAPESTRY    PAINTING 

2,000  Tapestry  Paintings  to  choose  from.  38  artists  employed,  including  Gold  medalists 
from  the  Paris  Salon.  Special  designs  .for  special  rooms. 

ARTISTIC     HOME     DECORATIONS 

We  can  show  you  effects  never  before  thought  of,  and  at  moderate  prices,  too.  Write  for 
Color  Schemes,  Designs,  Estimates.  Artists  sent  to  all  parts  of  the  world  to  execute 
every  sort  of  decoration  and  painting.  We  are  educating  the  country  in  Color  Harmony. 
We  supply  everything  that  goes  to  make  up  the  interior  of  a  home — Stained  Glass,  Relief, 
Carpets,  Furniture,  Parquetry,  Tiles,  Window  Shades,  Art  Hanging,  Draperies. 

RUSSIAN    TAPESTRY 

For  Wall  Hangings  in  colors  to  match  all  kinds  of  wood  work,  carpets,  draperies.  To 
be  pasted  on  like  wall  paper,  52  inches  wide.  It  costs  little  more  than  Burlaps,  and  has 
taken  the  place  of  Burlaps  in  private  homes,  being  softer,  smoother  and  more  rich  and 
restful.  We  recommend  these  most  highly.  We  haye  made  special  silk  draperies  to 
match  them. 

GOBELIN    ART    CRETONS 

For  Wall  Hangings.  They  are  pasted  on  like  wall  paper.  They  are  taking  the  place  of 
the  latter,  being  softer  and  more  artistic,  costing  very  little  more — about  the  same  as 
wall  paper  at  $1  a  roll.  We  have  them  in  styles  of  Grecian,  Russian,  Venetian,  Brazilian, 
Roman,  Rococo,  Dresden,  Festoon,  College  Stripe,  Marie  Antoinette,  Indian,  Calcutta,  Bom- 
bay, Delft,  Soudan — and  mark  you,  draperies  to  match.  Send  for  samples. 

W/ALL    PAPERS 

New  styles  designed  by  gold  medal  artists.  Send  50c.  to  prepay  expenses  on  large  sample 
books  and  drapery.  Will  include  drapery  samples  in  package.  See  our  Antique,  Metallic, 
French,  Pressed  Silks  and  lid  a  effects.  Have  500  different  wall  hangings  with  draperies 
especially  made  to  match. 

DRAPERIES 

We  have  draperies  to  match  all  kinds  of  hanging  from  15c.  a  yard.  This  is  a  very  im- 
portant feature  to  attain  the  acme  of  artistic  excellence  in  decoration.  No  matter  how 
much  or  how  little  you  want  to  spend,  you  must  have  harmony  in  form  and  color.  Send 
25c.  to  pay  postage. 

FREE 

If  you  will  send  us  the  floor  plans  of  your  house,  we  will  send  you  free  a  color  scheme, 
illustrated  by  samples  themselves.  (Regular  charge  for  this  is  $25.)  Tell  us  what  you  want 
on  the  walls  of  the  principal  rooms — tint,  paint,  paper  or  stuff.  We  can  decorate  your 
house  from  $200  up.  If  possible,  send  us  the  plans;  rough  pencil  outline  will  do.  Tell  us  if 
you  want  curtains,  carpets,  furniture — in  fact,  itemize  to  us  everything  you  desire.  If  you 
have  any  or  all  of  these  articles,  let  us  know  the  color  of  them,  so  we  can  bring  them  into 
the  color  scheme.  Send  25c.  to  pay  postage. 

Douthitt's  Manual  of  Art  Decorations.  The  art  book  of  the  century.  200  royal  quarto  pages 
filled  with  full  page  illustrations  of  modern  home  interiors  and  studies.  Price  $2.  If  you 
want  to  be  up  in  decoration,  send  $2  for  this  book;  worth  $50. 

School.  Six  3-hour  tapestry  painting  lessons,  in  studio,  $5.00.  Complete  written  instructions 
by  mail,  $1.00.  Tapestry  paintings  rented;  full-size  drawings,  paints,  brushes,  etc.,  sup- 
plied. Nowhere,  Paris  not  excepted,  are  such  advantages  offered  pupils.  New  catalogue  of 
225  studies,  25c.  Send  $1.00  for  complete  instructions  in  tapestry  painting  and  compendium 
of  studies. 

Tapestry  Materials.  We  manufacture  Tapestry  Materials  superior  to  foreign  goods  and  half 
the  prices.  Book  of  samples,  lOc.  Send  $1.50  for  trial  order  for  two  yards  of  50  inch  wide 
No.  6  goods,  worth  $3.00. 

Full  Line  French,  English  and  Dutch  Posters  by  all  the 
Eminent  Poster  Artists 


viii 


Please    Mention   Overland    Monthly   In   Writing   Advertisers. 


PREVENTING  SMOKE   NUISANCE  1847 


What  Sixty  Years  Have  Accomplished 

Since  1847  the  changes  and  improvements  in  every  phase  of  life  are  almost  inconceivable. 
The  silver  plating  industry,  like  all  other  lines,  has  been  completely  revolutionized, 
but  the  original  brand  of  silver  plated  ware  is  still  recognized  as  the  world's  standard. 

**  1847  ROGERS  BROS." 

ware  has,  for  three-score  years,  ably  maintained  the  title  of  "Silver  Plate  that  Wears. " 
Artistic   patterns,  correct   style,  brilliant  finish  and  enduring   quality  form    the 
perfect    combination     that     has    made    spoons,    knives,    forks,    etc.,     marked 
''1847  ROGERS  BROS."  the  choice  of  the  majority. 

Sold  by  leading  dealers  everywhere. 


Curious 

Facts 
About  1847 


AN  ELECTRIC  SMOKELESS  TRAIN  1807 


Are  re-vived   and 
reviewed  in  an 
nniqnelyillustrated 
publication  called  the 

Silver  Standard  "—full 

of  interest  to  lovers  of 

tne  quaint  and  curious 

8aenc°Py  <*  whichCwiiTbe 

Ton,       »°  a"y  One  wl>0  80 

'uH^fen  writing  for 
our  Catalogue  "  G-37  ." 

MERIDEN  BRITANNIA  CO 
Morton.  Con. 

(International  Silver  Co 
Successor.) 


rs.  Winslow's 


Soothing  Syrup 


FOR  CHILDREN 

WHILE  CUTTING 
THEIR  TEETH 


An  Old  and 

Well-Tried 

Remedy 


For  over  fifty  years 
Mrs.  Winslow's  Sooth- 

^___^___^^_a  Ing  Syrup   has   been 
used    by    millions   of 

*  mothers  for  their  children  while  teeth- 
ing, with  perfect  success.  It  soothes 
the  child,  softens  the  gums,  allays  all 
pain  ;  cures  Wind  Colic,  and  is  the  best 
remedy  for  Diarrhoea.  Sold  by  Druggists 
in  every  part  of  the  world.  Be  sure  and 
ask  for  Mrs.  Winslow's  Soothing  Syrap, 
and  take  no  other  kind. 

Twenty-five  Cents  a  Bottle. 


Guaranteed  under  the  Food  and  Drugs  Act 
June  30,  1906.     Serial  No.  1098 


Being  an  Alkaline  Liquid  Denti- 
frice, SOZODONT  penetrates  all  the 
little  crevices  of  the  teeth,  neutral- 
izes the  dangerous  mouth  acids  anc 
purifies  the  whole  tooth  structure 
making  the  teeth  strong  and  well. 

Stand  by  SOZODONT,  and  your 
teeth  will  stand  by  you. 


Views  of   the 

Re-building 

of  the 

Burned  District 

of 

San  Francisco 


D  <" 

UJ    oj 

Z    C 

55 
0=3 


REBUILDING    OF   THE    BURNED    DISTRICT    OF    SAN    FRANCISCO. 

The  twelve-story  Pacific  building,   corner  Fourth  and  Market  streets. 
M"gest  reinforced  concrete  building  in  the  world, 
rebuilding  on  Mission  street,  between  Third  and  Fourth.     Monadnock,     Crocker  and  Union   Trust 
iriings   m    background.  Photos  by  F.  W.   Prince,  Pass.   Dept.   Santa  Fe  R.   R. 


When  completed  will  be  the 


Looking  east  and  north  from  Kearny,  between    Sacramento    and    California. 


Wells-Fargo    Building,    Second    near    Market  streets. 

REBUILDING    OF    THE    BURNED    DISTRICT    OF    SAN    FRANCISCO. 


Market   street,    from    Second   to   Waterfront 


Geary  street,  from  Stockton  street  to  Market. 

REBUILDING    OF    THE     BURNED     DISTRICT    OF    SAN     FRANCISCO. 


REBUILDING    OF    THE    BURNED    DISTRICT    OF    SAN    FRANCISCO. 

The   rebuilding   of   Mission   street   from    Fourth,    showing   St.    Patrick's   Church. 

Removing  the  debris  from  the.  Palace  Hotel  site.     The  entire  building  was  wrecked  and  removed  by 
McLennan  in  ninety  days. 

Photos  by  F.  W.  Prince,  Passenger  Department  Santa  Fe  R.  R. 


REBUILDING   OF   THE    BURNED   DISTRICT  OF   SAN    FRANCISCO. 

Rebuilding  of  Sansome  street,   from  Market. 
Rebuilding  of  Chinatown  and  Italian  section. 
Looking  down  Market   from  James  Flood  building. 

Photos  by  F.  W.  Prince,  Pass.  Dept.   Santa  Fe  R.  R. 


Mt.  Tallac,  from  Tallac  Pier,  on  Lake  Tahoe. 


Overland  Monthly 


NO.  1 


July,  1907 


VOL.  L 


BY    ARCHIBALD    HENDERSON 


IF  this  age  of  topsy-turvydom — the 
age  of  Nietzsche,  Shaw,  Carroll, 
Wilde,  Chesterton — criticism  mas- 
querades in  the  garb  of  iconoclasm;  and 
fancy,  fantasy,  caprice  and  paradox  usurp 
the  roles  of  scholarship,  realistic  valua- 
tion, and  the  historic  sense.  The  ancient 
and  honorable  authority  of  the  critic  is 
undermined  by  the  complacent  scepticism 
of  the  period.  And  the  gentle  art  of  ap- 
preciation is  only  the  individual  filtration 
of  art  through  a  temperament.  The  mania 
for  certitude  died  with  Renan,  confidence 
had  its  lost  leader  in  Carlyle,  and  author- 
ity relinquishes  its  last  and'  greatest  ad- 
herent in  the  recent  death  of  Brunetiere. 
The  ease  of  blasphemy  and  the  commer- 
cialization of  audacity  are  accepted  facts; 
we  have  lost  the  courage  and  simplicity 
for  the  expression  of  truth,  unvarnished 
and  unadorned.  "We  know  we  are  bril- 
liant and  distinguished,  but  we  do  not 
know  that  we  are  right.  We  swagger  in 
fantastic  artistic  costumes;  we  praise 
ourselves;  we  fling  epigrams  right  and 
left;  we  have  the  courage  to  play  the  ego- 
tist, and  the  courage  to  play  the  fool,  but 
we  have  not  the  courage  to  preach."  The 
symbol  of  art  is  no  longer  a  noble  muse, 
but  only  a  tricksy  jade.  Criticism,  once 
the  art  of  imaginative  interpretation,  is 
now  mere  self-expression — the  adventures 
of  a  soul  among  masterpieces.  We  are  ex- 
pected to  believe  that  the  greatest  pictures 
are  those  in  which  there  is  more  of  the  ar- 
tist than  the  sitter.  The  stigmata  of  cur- 
rent criticism  are  well  expressed  by  a  bril- 
liant Frenchman — Charles  Nodier,  was 
it  not? — in  the  opinion  that  if  one  stops 


to  inquire  into  the  probabilities,  he  will 
never  arrive  at  the  truth ! 

The  world  has  never  seen  an  age  in 
which  there  was  more  excuse  for  question- 
ing the  validity  of  contemporary  judg- 
ment. It  would  be  the  height  of  folly  to 
expect  posterity  to  authenticate  the  vapor- 
ings  of  an  appreciation  which,  in  shifting 
its  stress  from  the  universal  to  the  person- 
nel, has  changed  from  criticism  into  col- 
loquy, from  clinic  into  causerie.  Indeed, 
it  is  nothing  less  than  a  truism  that  the 
experience  of  the  artist  in  all  ages,  ac- 
cording to  the  verdict  of  history,  is  iden- 
tical with  itself.  In  the  words  of  Sidney 
Lanier : 

"  *  *  *  the  artist  shall  put  forth, 
humbly  and  lovingly,  the  very  best  and 
highest  that  is  within  him,  utterly  regard- 
less of  contemporary  criticism.  Wihat  pos- 
sible claim  can  contemporary  criticism 
set  up  to  respect — that  criticism  which 
crucified  Jesus  Christ,  stoned  Stephen, 
hooted  Pa-ul  for  a  madman,  tried  Luther 
for  a  criminal,  tortured  Galileo,  bound 
Columbus  in  chains,  drove  Dante  into  ex- 
ile, made  Shakespeare  write  the  sonnet, 
'When  in  disgrace  with  fortune  and  men's 
eyes/  gave  Milton  five  pounds  for  'Para- 
dise Lost/  kept  Samuel  Johnson  cooling 
his  heels  on  Lord  Chesterfield's  doorstep, 
reviled  Shelley  as  an  unclean  dog,  killed 
Keats,  cracked  jokes  on  Gluck,  Schubert, 
Beethoven,  Berlioz  and  Wagner,  and  com- 
mitted so  many  other  impious  follies  and 
stupidities  that  a  thousand  letters  like 
this  could  not  suffice  even  to  catalogue 
them?" 

It  was  Mr.  Bliss  Perry  who  charmingly 


10 


OVEELAND  MONTHLY. 


revealed  to  us  the  shades  and  nuances  of 
literary  fashion.  And  yet — the  dicta  of 
literary  cliques,  the  voice  of  literary  predi- 
lection often  ring  false  to  the  ears.  The 
verdict  of  the  intellectuels  is  a  veritable 
stumbling  block  in  the  path  of  genius.  "It 
is  from  men  of  established  literary  repu- 
tation/' asserts  Bernard  Shaw,  "that  we 
learn  that  William  Blake  was  mad;  that 
Shelley  was  spoiled  by  living  in  a  low  set; 
that  Eobert  Owen  was  a  man  who  did  not 
know  the  world ;  that  Ruskin  is  incapable 
of  comprehending  political  economy;  that 
Zola  is  a  mere  blackguard,  and  Ibsen  .is 
Zola  with  a  wooden  leg.  The  great  musi- 
cian accepted  by  his  unskilled  listener,  is 
vilified  by  his  fellow  musician.  It  was  the 
musical  culture  of  Europe  which  pro- 
nounced Wagner  the  inferior  of  Mendels- 
sohn and  Meyerbeer." 

It  is  not  enough  to  say,  with  the  bril- 
liant author  of  "Contemporains,"  that 
contemporary  criticism  is  mere  conversa- 
tion; it  is  often  little  more  than  mere 
gossip.  One  is  often  inclined  to  question, 
with  Lowell,  whether  the  powers  that  be, 
in  criticism,  are  really  the  powers  that 
ought  to  be.  Especially  is  this  true  of  a 
time  uniquely  characterized  by  its  ten- 
dency to  relentless  rehabilitation.  No  dia- 
bolic sinner  in  literary  history  is  now 
safe  in  his  grave.  He  is  in  perpetual  dan- 
ger of  being  the  innocent  victim  of  our 
pernicious  habit  of  sainting  the  unsainted, 
of  saving  the  damned.  The  immoral 
iconoclast  of  a  former  age  becomes  the 
saintly  anarch  of  this.  The  jar  of  lamp- 
black is  exchanged  for  a  bucket  of  white- 
wash; and  in  this  era  of  renovation  the 
soiled  linen  of  literary  sinners  emerges 
translucent  and  immaculate  from  the 
presses  of  the  critical  laundry.  The  True 
William  Blake,  the  True  Jean  Jacques 
Eousseau,  the  True  Byron,  the  True 
Shelley,  the  True  Nietzsche,  are  risen 
from  the  dead.  And  we  are  darkly  and 
irretrievably  given  over  to  the  pernicious 
palaverings  of  those  whom  Mr.  Eobert 
W.  Chambers  has  aptly  termed  "repairers 
of  reputations." 

I. 

In  view  of  the  premises,  it  may  appear 
at  once  paradoxical  and  perverse  to  at- 
tempt any  criticism  at  all,  especially  of 
the  works  of  a  decadent  like  Oscar  Wilde, 
whose  mere  name  is  a  synonym  for  the  ap- 


palling degeneracy  of  an  age  lashed  by 
the  polemics  of  Ibsen,  the  abjurgations  of 
Tolstoy,  the  satire  of  Shaw,  and  the  in- 
vective of  Nordau.     All  that  pertains  to 
Wilde  has  for  long  been  res  tacenda  in 
polite  society;  and  he  himself,  to  use  his 
own  phrase,  has  passed  from  a  sort  of 
eternity  of  fame  to  a  sort  of  eternity  of 
infamy.     The  current  revival  of  interest 
in  Wilde  finds  its  source  in  many  recent 
brochures  and  biographies.     In  general, 
these  have  been  fatally  marred  by  wrong- 
headed,  unhealthy  defense  and  attempted 
justification   of   certain   indefensible   epi- 
sodes in  his  life.     Only  in  Germany,  in 
the  hands  of  Carl  Hagemann,  Max  Meyer- 
feld   and   Hedwig   Lachmann,      and     in 
France  through  the  balanced  appreciation 
of  Henri  de  Eegnier  and  Jean  Joseph - 
Eenaud,  has  Wilde  met  with  critical  and 
discriminating  judgment,  not  of  his  life 
and  progressive  degeneration,  but  of  his 
mentality,  his  mind,  and  art.     The  fatal 
flow  of  current  criticism,   as  Brunetiere 
says,  is  that  we  do  not  see  our  contempor- 
aries from  a  sufficient  height  and  distance. 
That  we   are   unable   to   profit  by   what 
Xietzsche  terms  the  "pathos  of  distance,''' 
is  a  deficiency  that  can't  be  remedied.  But 
at  least  it  is  the  prerogative  of  art,  pe- 
culiarly of  the  art  of  criticism,  to  make 
the  attempt,  if  not  to  fix  the  position,  cer- 
tainly to  express  judgment  upon  the  work 
of  our  contemporaries.  The  grievous  error 
of  Wilde's  latest  biographer  is  found  in 
the  fact  that,  in  his  effort  to  reveal  to  us 
Wilde  the  man,  he  was  forced  into  count- 
less recitals  and  admissions  which,  despite 
any     plea     however     speciously     worded, 
could  only  prove  damaging  and  disastrous 
to     the     already  infamous  reputation  of 
his  subject  ("The  Life  of  Oscar  Wilde," 
by   E.    H,    Sherard;   Mitchell   Kennedy, 
N.   Y.)      If  there  is  any  spectacle  more 
disquieting   than    what    Macaulay   called 
"the  British  public  in  one  of  its  periodical 
fits  of  morality,"  it  is  the  spectacle  of  an 
Englishman  speciously  attempting  an  eva- 
sion of  the  fundamental  precepts  of  just 
conduct   and   right   living.      Indeed,   the 
only   raison   d'etre   of   any   treatment   of 
Wilde  is  the  conscientious  proposition  of 
the  question  whether  the  work,  and  not 
the  life,  of  Wilde,  is  worthy  of  genuine 
critical  study.     If  we  are  to  accept  the 
judgment  of  the  art  centers  of  Europe, 
there  is  no  mistaking  the  fact  that  their. 


THE  THEATRE  OF  OSCAR  WILDE. 


11 


verdict  is  unhesitatingly  in  the  affirma- 
tive. Many  of  Wilde's  works  have  been 
translated  into  a  number  of  foreign  ton- 
gues ;  and  certain  of  his  plays  have  taken 
the  European  capitals  by  storm.  In 
France,  Germany,  Austria  and  Spain,  his 
essays  have  won  a  laudation  little  short  of 
panegyric.  "De  Profundis"  has  already 
taken  its  place  as  a  marvelous  evocation  of 
an  etat  d'ame ;  and  "The  Ballad  of  Head- 
ing Gaol"  is  generally  recognized  as  a 
great  achievement,  conspicuous  alike  for 
sombre  realism  and  tragic  horror.  Wilde's 
fairy  tales  are  unusually  accepted  as 
dainty  mirrors  of  the  imaginative,  poetic 
artist  at  his  highest  and  best. 

The  tendency  of  humanity,  after  a 
sufficient  lapse  "of  time,  is  to  overlook 
many  faults  in  the  man  who  possesses  the 
virtue  proper  to  his  own  profession — to 
overlook  dissipation  in  the  brave  soldier, 
intolerance  in  the  compassionate  priest, 
harshness  in  the  successful  ruler.  One 
might  even  recall  that  frail  woman  in  the 
Bible  who  was  forgiven — because  she 
loved  much.  In  art,  as  in  life,  much  vir- 
tue inheres  in  the  professional  conscience ; 
and  the  peccable  artist  in  all  ages  has 
been  granted  a  hearing  on  account  of  his 
unfaltering  love  of  art.  "If  one  loves  art 
at  all,"  Wilde  once  wrote,  "one  must  love 
it  beyond  all  other  things  in  the  world, 
and  against  such  love  the  reason,  if  lis- 
tened to  it,  would  cry  out.  There  is  noth- 
ing sane  about  the  worship  of  beauty. 
It  is  something  entirely  too  splendid 
to  be  sane.  Those  of  whose  lives  it  forms 
the  dominant  note  will  always  seem  to  the 
world  to  be  pure  visionaries."  And  with 
all  his  affection  of  singularity,  his  as- 
sumption of  the  "dangerous  and  delight- 
ful distinction  of  being  different  from 
others,"  his  joyous  treading  of  "the 
primrose  path  of  self-exploitation,"  his 
esthetic  posturing,  charlatanry  and 
blague — Wilde  was  assuredly  a  personality 
of  whose  life  art  formed  the  dominant 
note. 

II. 

In  any  study  of  the  works  of  Wdlde — es- 
pecially of  his  plays,  which  have  not  re- 
ceived any  save  casual  and  desultory  treat- 
ment in  English — it  is  desirable,  in  so  far 
as  may  be  possible,  to  isolate  the  man 
from  his  works.  Thus  one  may  be  enabled 
to  view  them,  not  at  all  in  relation  to 


Wilde's  life,  but  solely  from  the  stand- 
point of  their  validity  and  authenticity 
as  works  of  art.  Bernard  Shaw  has 
naively  confessed  that  the  chief  obstacle 
to  the  success  of  his  plays  has  been  him- 
self !  For  totally  different  reasons,  the 
chief  obstacle  to  the  study  of  Wilde's 
plays  has  been  himself.  The  "insincer- 
itv"  of  this  artist  in  attitudes  was,  in  his 
own  words,  simply  a  method  by  which  he 
could  multiply  his  personality.  "Man  is 
least  himself  when  he  talks  in  his  own 
person.  Give  him  a  mask  and  he  will  tell 
you  Ihe  truth."  There  is  no  means  of  es- 
caping the  everlasting  return  of  life  upon 
art — art,  the  mirror  which  the  Narcissus 
of  artists  holds  up  to  himself.  Let  us, 
however,  remember  with  Novelis  that  he 
who  is  of  power  higher  than  the  first  is 
probably  a  genius,  and  with  Nietzsche, 
that  "all  that  is  profound  loves  a  mask." 
And  even  if,  occasionally  and  unwittingly, 
we  traverse  the  circuit  from  art  to  life,  nt 
least  we  may  have  the  satisfaction  of 
making  the  attempt  to  dissociate  the 
merits  of  the  dramatist  from  the  de- 
merits of  the  man. 

In  1882,  Wilde  wrote  to  Mr.  R.  D'Oyly 
Carte,  manager  of  the  Savoy  Theatre, 
London,  that  his  play,  "Vera;  or  The 
Nihilists,"  was  meant  not  to  be  read,  but 
to  be  acted.  This  opinion  has  never  re- 
ceived any  support  from  either  critic  or 
public.  Written  when  Wilde  was  only 
twenty-two  years  old  ("The  New  York 
World,  August  12,  1883).  this  play  early 
enrolled  him  under  that  drapeau  ro- 
mantigue  des  jeunes  guerriers,  of  which 
Theophile  Gautier  speaks,  yet  the  time 
doubtless  came  when  Wilde  regarded 
"Vera,"  as  he  certainly  regarded  his  first 
volume  of  poems,  merely  in  the  light  of  a 
perche  de  jeunesse.  Unlike  Ibsen,  Pinero 
or  Phillips,  Wilde  was  fortified  by  expe- 
rience neither  as  actor  nor  manager ;  there 
is  no  record  that  he  ever,  like  Shaw,  acted 
even  in  amateur  theatricals!  A  cousin  in 
near  degree  to  W.  G.  Wills,  the  dramatist, 
painter  and  poet,  Wilde  may  have  derived 
his  dramaturgic  gifts  in  some  measure 
from  this  source.  In  youth  he  learned  the 
graceful  arts  of  conversation  in  the  bril- 
liant salon  of  his  mother,  Lady  Wilde; 
and  his  predilection  for  the  dialogue  form 
was  early  revealed  in  certain  of  his  criti- 
cal essays.  The  play  "Vera"  ushers  us 
into  the  milieu  of  Henry  Seton  Merri- 


OVEELAND  MONTHLY. 


man's  "The  Sowers.,"  but  it  bears  all  the 
fantastic  ear-marks  of  the  yellow-backed 
fustian  of  the  melodramatic  fictionist, 
Marchmont.  One  might  easily  imagine 
it  to  be  the  boyish  effusion  of  a  romantic- 
youth  in  this  present  day  of  Von  Plehve, 
Gorki  and  the  Douma.  "As  regards  the 
play  itself,"  wrote  Wilde  to  the  American 
actress,  Marie  Prescott,  in  July,  1883,  "I 
have  tried  in  it  to  express  within  the  lim- 
its of  art  that  Titan  cry  of  the  peoples  for 
liberty  which  in  the  Europe  of  our  day,  is 
threatening  thrones  and  making  Govern- 
ments unstable  from  Spain  -to  Eussia,  and 
from  north  to  southern  seas.  But  it  is  a 
play  not  of  politics,  but  of  passion.  It 
deals  with  no  theories  of  Government, 
but  with  men  and  women  simply;  and 
modern  Nihilistic  Eussia,  with  all  the  ter- 
ror of  its  tyranny,  and  the  marvel  of  its 
martyrdoms,  is  merely  the  fiery  and  fer- 
vent background  in  front  of  which  the 
persons  of  my  dream  live  and  love.  With 
this  feeling  was  the  play  written,  and 
with  this  aim  should  the  play  be  acted." 
Despite  these  lofty  and  promising  words, 
the  play  warrants  no  serious  consideration 
— even  though  it  won  the  admiration  of 
Lawrence  Barrett  himself.  A  pseudo- 
Volksdrama,  "Vera"  images  the  conflict 
between  despotism  and  socialism,  between 
a  vacillating,  terror-obsessed  Czar  and  a 
Eussian  Charlotte  Corday.  The  "love  in- 
terest" inheres  in  the  struggle  of  the 
Czarevitch,  in  sympathy  with  the  people, 
between  his  duty  to  the  Empire  and  his 
love  for  the  Nihiliste  Vera.  But  instead 
of  creatures  of  flesh  and  blood,  looming 
solid  in  a  large  humanity,  we  see  only  thin 
cardboard  profiles — bloodless  puppets 
shifted  hither  and  thither,  as  with  Sar- 
dou,  at  the  bidding  of  the  mechanical 
showman.  One-sided  in  the  possession  of 
only  one  feminine  role,  the  play  is  largely 
taken  up  with  interminable,  longeurs  of 
pointless  persiflage  between  superfluous 
characters ;  and  this  is  destructive  for  a 
Wilde  who  has  not  yet  mastered  the  arts 
of  epigram,  paradox  and  repartee.  The 
denouement,  in  which  Vera,  chosen  by  lot 
to  assassinate  the  young  Czarevitch  now 
become  Czar,  whom  she  passionately  loves, 
turns  upon  her  own  breast  the  dagger 
meant  for  him,  and  then  tosses  it  ove^ 
the  balcony  to  the  ravening  conspirators 
below  with  the  cry  "I  have  saved  Eussia" 
— this  is  the  very  acme  of  the  theatric  in 


its  worst  sense,  the  very  quintessence  of 
Adelphi  melodrama.  Xot  inapposite, 
perhaps,  was  the  characteristic  paragraph 
in  "Punch"  (December  10,  1881),  under 
"Impressions  du  Theatre :" 

"The  production  of  Mr.  Oscar  Wilde's 
play  'Vera'  is  deferred.  Naturally,  no 
one  would  expect  a  Veerer  to  be  at  all 
certain;  it  must  be,  like  a  pretendedly  in- 
fallible forecast,  so  very  weathercocky. 
'Vera'  is  about  Nihilism;  this  looks  as  if 
there  was  nothing  in  it.  But  why  did 
Mr.  0.  Wilde  select  the  Adelphi  for  his 
first  appearance  as  a  dramatic  author,  in 
which  career  we  wish  him  cordially  all  the 
success  he  may  deserve?  Why  did  he  not 
select  the  Savoy?  Surely  where  there's  a 
donkey  cart — we  should  say  D'Oyly 
Carte — there  ought  to  be  an  opportunity 
for  an  'Os-car?"  (On  the  point  of  be- 
ing produced  in  London  in  December, 
1881,  under  the  management  of  Dion 
Boucicault,  with  Mrs.  Bernard-Beere  in 
the  title  role,  "Vera"  was  suddenlv  with- 
drawn, possibly  for  political  reasons. 
Shortly  afterwards,  Wilde  made  his  lec- 
ture tour  in  America  and  endeavored  to 
place  his  play  on  the  boards  during  his 
stair  in  this  country,  but  without  success. 
Produced  in  New  York  on  August  20, 
1883,  with  Marie  Prescott,  G.  C.  Boni- 
face, Lewis  Morrison  and  Edward  Lamb 
in  the  leading  roles,  the  play  proved  a 
complete  failure,  and  was  never  after- 
wards revived.  Compare  Decorative  Art 
in  America  (Brentanos)  pp.  195-6,  and 
E.  H.  Sherard's  "Life  of  Oscar  Wilde" 
(Kennerly),  p.  221.) 

In  the  Wilde  of  the  "third  period,"  as 
he  described  himself  in  1883,  is  revealed 
a  strangely  different  man  from  the  apos- 
tle of  aestheticism.  If  he  has  not  learned 
to  scorn  delights,  at  least  he  has  learned 
to  live  laborious  days.  He  takes  up  his 
quarters  at  the  Hotel  Voltaire  in  Paris, 
and  though  still  guilty  of  "affectation  in 
his  assumption  of  the  cane  and  cowl  of 
Balzac,  yet  he  takes  the  great  French  mas- 
ter for  his  model  and  disciplines  himself 
to  that  unremitting  labor  which,  in  Bal- 
zac's view,  is  the  law  of  art.  Eecall  the 
precious  anecdote  of  Wilde  over  his  manu- 
script— deleting  a  comma  in  the  fore- 
noon and  re-inserting  it  in  the  afternoon. 
In  these  days  of  the  comet,  the  theatrical 
star,  for  whom  parts  are  especially  writ- 
ten— "Cyrano"  for  Coquelin;  "Vanna" 


THE  THE  ATE  E  OF  OSCAR  WILDE. 


13 


for  Mme.  Maeterlinck;  "The  Sorceress" 
for  Bernhardt,  and  "Cicely"  for  Terry — 
Wilde  thought  to  play  his  part  in  writing 
"The  Duchess  of  Padua"  for  Mary  An- 
derson. (This  statement  is  made  on  the 
authority  of  Mr.  R.  H.  Sherard,  but  Wilde 
himself  once  wrote  (Letter  to  The  Times, 
London,  March  3,  1893)  :  "I  have  never 
written  a  play  for  any  actor  or  actress,  nor 
shall  I  ever  do  so.  Such  work  is  for  the 
artisan  in  literature,  not  for  the  artist.") 
This  was  a  play  laid  in  the  16th  century — 
century  of  Paolo  and  Francesca,  of 
Dante  and  Malatesta — century  of  tears 
and  terror,  of  poetry  and  passion,  of  mad- 
ness and  blood.  It  is  a  tale,  in  five  acts, 
of  the  love  of  the  gentle  Beatrice,  Duchess 
of  Padua,  and  of  the  young  Guido  Fer- 
ranti,  sworn  to  avenge  the  inhuman  mur- 
der of  his  noble  father  at  the  hands  of  the 
old  and  heartless  duke,  the  husband  of 
Beatrice.  In  milieu  and  accessories,  the 
play  is  laid  out  along  the  lines  of  Eliza- 
bethan drama — of  "Romeo  and  Juliet," 
for  example — or  more  properly  of  Brown- 
ing's "Luria,"  of  Maeterlinck's  "Monna 
Vanna,"  of  D'Annunzio's  "Francesca  da 
Rimini."  Its  interest  and  charm  consist 
far  less  in  its  subject  than  in  its  spiritual 
and  emotional  content — the  violently 
transitional  moods  of  romantic  passion. 
Ferranti  and  Beatrice  have  just  confessed 
their  love  for  each  other,  when  the  pre- 
arranged message  comes  to  Ferranti  that 
the  hour  to  strike  down  the  Duke  is  come. 
He  tears  himself  away  from  Beatrice  in 
definitive  farewell,  with  poignant  agony, 
crying  out  that  a  certain  insurmountable 
obstacle  stands  in  the  way  of  their  love. 
That  night,  as  he  pauses  outside  the  door 
of  the  Duke's  chamber,  meditating  upon 
assassination,  there  comes  to  Ferranti  the 
belated  recognition  not  only  that  he  can 
never  approach  Beatrice  again  with  the 
blood  of  the  murdered  Duke  upon  his 
hands,  but  that  such  a  revenge  is  deeply 
unworthy  of  the  memory  of  his  noble 
father.  But  as  Anael  comes  forth  from 
the  murder  of  the  Prefect  to  her  Djabal, 
comes  forth  Beatrice  to  her  Guido.  Under 
the  tyranny  of  her  love  for  Guido,  she 
herself  has  slain  the  Duke,  to  whom  she 
was  ever  but  a  worthless  chattel — the 
Duke,  the  sole  obstacle  to  the  fulfillment 
of  her  passion.  Guido  recoils  from  her 
upon  whose  hands  is  the  blood  which  he 
himself  had  solemnly  refused  to  shed. 


And  although  Beatrice  is  transformed, 
like  Juliet  into  a  very  "Von  Moltke  of 
love,"  she  cannot,  with  all  the  mustered 
array  of  her  forces,  storm  the  bastion  of 
Guido's  soul.  So  sudden  and  so  supreme 
is  her  own  revulsion  of  feeling  that  she 
denounces  Ferranti  to  the  passers-by  as 
the  murderer  of  her  husband.  Follows 
the  trial  of  Ferranti  for  his  life — a  scene 
memorable  for  its  undulation  of  emotional 
process,  the  conflicting  fears  and  hopes  of 
the  heart-wrung  Duchess,  and  the  crisis, 
Ferranti's  confession,  against  which  the 
Duchess  has  fought  with  every  available 
weapon  in  fear  of  the  truth — Ferranti's 
false  confession  that  the  murderer  is  none 
other  than  himself.  Visiting  the  con- 
demned Ferranti  in  his  cell,  the  heart- 
broken Duchess,  in  the  excess  of  her  spirit- 
ual agony,  takes  poison,  and  Guido,  real- 
izing at  last  the  inner,  essential  nobility 
of  her  character,  avows  for  her  his  undy- 
ing love,  and  dies  upon  the  point  of  his 
dagger. 

"The  Duchess  of  Padua"  is  remarkabla 
for  instrumentation  of  feeling,  its  glow 
of  youthful  fire,  the  delicate  and  rare 
beauty  of  its  imagery.  It  links  itself  ^o 
Hardy  and  to  Whitman  rather  than  to 
Shakespeare  in  its  intimation  of  "purity 
of  purpose  as  the  sole  criterion  of  deed;" 
for  here  Wilde,  concerned  less  with  the 
primitive  bases  of  individuality  than  with 
the  fundamental  impulses  of  human 
nature,  reveals  life  as  fluid  and  self-con- 
tradictory. "In  every  creature,"  writes 
Hedwig  Lachmann,  "lurks  the  readiness 
for  desperate  deeds.  But  when  all  is  over, 
man  remains  unchanged.  His  nature  does 
not  change,  because  for  a  moment  he  has 
been  torn  from  his  moorings.  The  river 
glides  back  into  its  bed  after  the  stormy 
waters,  which  forced  its  overflow,  have 
run  their  course."  Like  Maeterlinck's 
Joyzelle,  Beatrice  is  forgiven,  not  because 
"Who  sins  for  love  sins  not,"  but  because 
she  has  loved  much.  In  Wilde's  own  dan- 
gerous words — in  "The  Soul  of  Man  un- 
der Socialism,"  written  some  eight  years 
later :  "A  man  cannot  always  be  estimated 
by  what  he  does.  He  may  keep  the  law 
and  yet  be  worthless.  He  may  break  the 
law,  and  yet  be  fine.  He  may  be  bad 
without  ever  doing  anything  bad.  He 
may  commit  a  sin  against  society,  and  vet 
realize  through  that  sin  his  true  perfec- 
tion." As  Maeterlinck  has  told  us,  jus- 


14 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


tice  is  a  very  mysterious  thing,  residing 
not  in  nature  nor  in  anything  external, 
but,  like  truth,  within  ourselves. 

In  "Vera,"  Wdlde,  with  'prentice  hand, 
unsuccessfully  attempted  to  picture  the 
dramatic  conjuctures  and  crises  arising 
whea 

"  *  *  the  giant  wave  Democracy 
Breaks    on    the    shores   where   kings   lay 
couched  at  ease." 

"The  Duchess  of  Padua,"  his  next  play, 
is  endowed  with  poetic  qualities  of  rare 
opulence,  imbued  with  resonant  emotional 
instrumentation.  It  is  in  this  play,  as 
Mr.  William  Archer  has  justly  said,  that 
Wilde  reveals  himself  a  poet  of  very  high 
rank.  Nothing  is  easier,  and  therefore 
possibly  more  misleading,  than  to  say 
ce  n'est  pas  du  theatre,  for  the  tests  of  its 
suitability  for  the  stage  have  been  incon- 
clusive. It  is  true  that,  to  Wilde's  intense 
disappointment,  this  play  was  refused  by 
Mary  Anderson,  but  it  was  afterwards 
produced  in  the  United  States  by  Law- 
rence Barrett  with  moderate  success.  (Al- 
though announced  as  in  preparation  in  the 
Publishers'  List  of  1894,  "The  Duchess  of 
Padua"  was  actually  not  published  until 
ten  years  later — in  the  fine  German  trans- 
lation of  Dr.  Max  Meyerfeld  of  Berlin.  In 
addition  to  its  production  in  America  with 
Lawrence  Barrett  and  Mina  Gale  in  the 
leading  roles,  there  have  been  two  produc- 
tions on  the  Continent.  At  Hamburg, 
Germany,  in  December,  1904,  where  it 
was  produced  under  the  most  adverse 
circumstances,  the  play  proved  a  failure, 
being  withdrawn  after  three  nights.  And 
when  it  was  produced  in  Berlin  early  in 
1906  it  was  killed  by  the  critics,  resulting 
in  a  heavy  loss  for  its  champion,  Dr. 
Meyerfeld.  The  play  is  now  to  be  pro- 
cured in  the  original  English  version  (The 
Plays  of  Oscar  Wilde,  3  vols.,  John  W. 
Luce  &  Co.,  Boston.) 

The  play  which,  by  reason  of  its  imagi- 
native coloring,  naturally  falls  into  the 
category  of  "Vera"  and  "The  Duchess  of 
Padua,"  rather  than  into  that  of  the 
society  comedies,  is  Wilde's  meretricious 
one-act  drama,  "Salome,"  which  fur- 
nished the  libretto  for  the  gruesome  and 
perverted  music-drama  of  the  great  com- 
poser, Richard  Strauss,  recently  with- 
drawn from  the  stage  of  the  Metropolitan 


Onera  House  in  New  York.  One  may  re- 
call that  it  was  Wilde's  pleasure,  during 
his  frequent  visits  to  Paris,  to  delight  the 
French  world  of  art  and  letters  with  bril- 
liant causeries.  The  masterly  ease  and 
exquisite  purity  of  his  French  were  a  mar- 
vel to  all  who  heard  him.  Wilde  once 
explained  the  idea  he  had  in  mind  in 
writing  the  play  of  "Salome"  in  French: 
"I  have  one  instrument  that  I  know  I 
can  command,  and  that  is  the  English 
language.  There  was  another  instrument 
to  which  I  had  listened  all  my  life,  and  I 
wanted  once  to  touch  this  new  instrument 
to  see  whether  I  could  make  any  beautiful 
thing  out  of  it.  *  *  Of  course,  there  are 
modes  of  expression  that  a  Frenchman  of 
letters  would  not  have  used,  but  they  give 
a  certain  relief  or  color  to  the  play.  A 
great  deal  of  the  curious  effect  that 
Maeterlinck  produces  comes  from  the  fact 
that  he,  a  Flamand  by  grace,  writes  in  an 
alien  language.  The  same  thing  is  true 
of  Rossetti,  who,  though  he  wrote  in  Eng- 
lish, was  essentially  Latin  in  tempera- 
ment." (The  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  June  29, 
1892.) 

Wilde  was  strongly  influenced  by  Hero- 
dias,  one  of  Gustave  Flaubert's  "Trois 
Gouts,"  in  which  the  death  of  Jokanaan 
is  the  result  of  the  insatiable  hatred  of 
Herodias;  it  is  at  her  instigation  that 
Salome  dances  for  the  head  of  the  nrophet. 
At  the  time  he  was  writing  this  play, 
Wilde  said  to  the  Spanish  critic,  Gomez 
Carillo :  "If  for  no  other  reason,  I  have 
always  longed  to  go  to  iSpain  that  I 
might  see  in  the  Prado  Titian's  Salome, 
of  which  Tintoretto  once  exclaimed :  'Here 
at  last  is  a  man  who  paints  the  very 
quivering  flesh !'  v  And  Carrillo  men- 
tions that  only  Gustave  Moreau's  portrait 
unveiled  for  Wilde  the  "soul  of  the 
dancing  princess  of  his  dreams."  But 
whatever  alien  influences  may  have  been 
at  work  upon  him,  certain  it  is  that  he 
has  given  the  story  an  interpretation  in- 
dividual in  its  abnormality.  Like  Poe, 
like  Bandelaine,  like  Maeterlinck,  he  has 
sought  to  reveal  to  us,  with  masterful, 
if  meretricious  artistry,  le  beau  dans  I'Tior- 
rible. 

Salome  is  a  fevered  dream,  a  poignant 
picture — it  is  like  one  of  those  excursions 
into  the  macabre  with  which  Wilde  suc- 
ceeded in  fascinating  the  Parisians.  In  it 
one  discerns,  as  in  a  sheet  of  pale,  quiver- 


THE   THEATRE   OF   OSCAR   WILDE. 


15 


ing  lightning,  the  revolting  decadence  of 
an  age  when  vice  was  no  prejudice  and 
sensuality  no  shame.     As  in  a  piece  of 
music,  we  hear  the  resonance  of  passion, 
and  the  reverberations  of  obscure,  half- 
divined  emotions;  as  in  a  picture,  we  feel 
rather  than  see  the  decadent  genius  of  its 
tone  and  atmosphere;  as  in  a  lyric  poem, 
jangled  and  out  of  tune,  we  shudder ingly 
shrink  from  the  spell  of  its  mood — what 
Hagemann  calls  "eine  bezwingende,  satte 
Stimmung."     The  characters  stand  forth 
in   chiseled   completeness   from   the   rich 
Galilean  background  like  the     embossed 
figure  of  the  malady  of  that  age;  and 
insatiable,     sensual     Herodias,     symbolic 
figure  of  the  maladv  of  that  age;  and 
Herod,  the  Tetrarch,  obsessed  with  pro- 
foundly disquieting  inclinations  to  unlaw- 
ful  passion,  ;who   ultimately   cuts   at   a 
single  blow  the  Gordian  knot  of  his  prob- 
lem, for  the  untying  of  which  he  lacks 
for  the  time  being  both  courage  and  moral 
power.     Like  Hebbel's  Daniel,  Jokanaan 
is  a  wonderfully  realized  figure — 'the  in-  . 
carnation  of  a  primitive,  intolerant  pro- 
phet— commanding  rapt  attention  far  less 
by  what  he  says  or  does  than  by  what  he 
is.     And  then  there  is   Salome — young, 
fair,  impressionable,  upon  the  very  thresh- 
old of  womanhood.     Recall     the     young 
Syrian's   description   of   her,   hauntingly 
reminiscent  of   the  Maeterlinck  of   "Pel 
leas  and  Melisande":  "She  is  like  a  dove 
ihat  has  strayed  *  *  she  is  like  a  narcissus 
trembling  in  the  wind  *  *  she  is  like  a 
silver   flower  *  *  her   little  white  hands 
are  fluttering  like  doves  that  fly  to  their 
dove-cotes.     They  are  like  white  butter- 
flies.'5    At  first,  she  is  unmoved  by  any 
strangely  perverse,  nameless  passion  for 
the  forbidden.    But  as  in  a  dream,  a  mem- 
ory of  forgotten,  yet  half-divined  reality, 
love   wakens   under   the   mystic   spell   of 
Jokanaan's  presence,   and  his  scorn,  his 
anathemas,     his     obiurgations,     rouse  to 
life  and  to  revolt  within  her  the  dormant 
instincts  of  an  Herodias.     She  will  sing 
the  swan  song  of  her  soul  in  the  paean  of 
the  dance,  and  for  the  sake  of  revenge  will 
so  ensnare  the  weak,  unnatural  Herod  in 
the  meshes  of  her  perilous  beauty  that  he 
can  refuse  her  nothing — even  though  it 
were  the  half  of  his  kingdom.     But  when 
her  revenge  is  sated  and  the  head  of  Jo- 
kanaan in  her  hands,  the  world  swims  in 
a  scarlet  haze  before  her  eyes ;  and  though 


lust,  scorn,  revenge  and  death  meet  in  that 
terrible  kiss,  the  hour  of  her  own  fate  has 
struck.  Impressive,  awful,  imperial, 
Herod  speaks  the  words:  "Kill  that 
woman!"  Salome,  daughter  of  Herodias, 
Princess  of  Judea,  is  crushed  beneath  the 
shields  of  the  soldiers,  and  her  death 
sounds  the  death  knell  of  a  decadent  and 
degenerate  age.  A  new  epoch  of  culture 
is  at  hand. 

In  Salome,  Wilde  depicts  a  crystallized 
embodiment  of  the  age,  rather  than  the 
age  itself.    The  influence  of  Maeterlinck  is 
inescapable  in  the  simplicity  of  the  dia- 
logue, in  the  iterations  and  reverberations 
of  the  hit  motifs.    As  Wilde  himself  said, 
Salome  is  a  piece  of  music — (with  its  pro- 
gressive crescendo,  emotional  paean  and 
tragic  finale.     To  the  naturalism  of  sen- 
sation is  super-added  stylistic  symmetry, 
and,  in  places,  what  Baudelaire  called  la 
grace  supreme  litteraire.  But  the  effect  of 
the  play,  even  in  the  reading,  is  to  focus 
attention  upon  abnormal  states  of  feeling, 
indicative  of  decadence  and  degeneracy, 
and  this  impression  is  doubtless  multiplied 
a  thousand-fold  by  the  "argument  of  the 
flesh,"  and  the  potent  instrumentalities  of 
music  and  the  stage.  (There  seems  to  be 
no  foundation  for  the  statement  of  E.  Go- 
mez   Carrillo,  in  his   "El   Origen  de  la 
Salome    de   Wilde,"   the   preface    to   the 
Spanish  translation  of  Salome,  that  this 
play   was   written   for   Sarah  Bernhardt. 
The  play  was  written  in  Paris  at  the  turn 
of  the  year  1891-2 ;  and  Wilde  himself  said 
to  an  interviewer  (June,  1892)  :  "A  few 
weeks  ago  I  met  Madame  Sarah  Bern- 
hardt at  Sir  Henry  Irving's.     She  had 
heard  of  my  play,  and  asked  me  to  read  it 
to  her.    I  did  so,  and  she  at  once  expressed 
a  wish  to  play  the  title-roll."     For  infor- 
mation concerning  the  marvelous  success 
of  this  play  upon  the  Continent,  compare 
"Decorative  Art  in  America"  (Brentanos, 
N.  Y.)  ;  "Oscar  Wilde,"  by  Carl  Hage- 
mann  (J.  C.  C.  Bruns'  Verlag,  Minden 
in  Westf )  ;  "Oscar  Wilde,     by     Hedwig 
Lachmann    (Schuster   and   Loeffler,   Ber- 
lin and  Leipzig)  ;  "Oskar     Wilde,"     by 
Halpdan  Langgaard  (Axel  Juncker  Ver- 
lag, Stuttgart),  and  "The  Life  of  Oscar 
Wilde,"  by  R.  H.  Sherard  (Mitchell  Ken- 
neriy,  N.  Y.)     See  also  Wilde's  letter  to 
Robert  Ross     (De     Profundis,     German 
translation   by   Max    Meyerfeld,    S.   Fis- 
cher, Berlin,  pp.   101-2)    of  date  March 


16 


OVEBLATO  MONTHLY. 


10,  1896,  in  which  he  expresses  his  pro- 
found appreciation  for.  the  production  of 
'•'Salome"  by  Lugne  Poe  at  the  Theatre 
de  1'Oeuvre,  Paris.  "Salome"  was  trans- 
lated into  English  by  Lord  Alfred  Doug- 
las, and  quite  fittingly  illustrated  by  the 
exotic  artist,  Aubrey  Beardsley.) 

III. 

The  four  society  comedies  which  Wilde 
wrote  in  rapid  succession,  which  immedi- 
ately gained  huge  success  in  England,  and 
have  since  been  played  to  vastly  apprecia- 
tive audiences  in  America  and  in  Europe, 
are  so  similar  in  style,  treatment  and  ap- 
peal as  to  warrant  discussion  as  an  unique 
genre.  (These  four  comedies  are  "Lady 
Windermere's  Fan,"  produced  for  the  first 
time  at  the  St.  James's  Theatre,  London, 
on  February  22,  1892,  by  Mr.  George 
Alexander  and  his  company;  "A  Woman 
of  No  Importance,"  produced  for  the  first 
time  at  the  Haymarket  Theatre,  London, 
by  Mr.  H.  Beerbohm  Tree,  on  April  19, 
1893 ;  "An  Ideal  Husband,"  produced  for 
the  first  time  at  the  Theatre  Eoyal,  Hay- 
market,  London,  on  January  3,  1895; 
"The  Importance  of  Being  Earnest,"  pro- 
duced for  the  first  time  at  the  St.  James's 
Theatre,  London,  on  February  14,  1895, 
by  Mr.  George  Alexander  and  his  com- 
pany.) 

In  the  category  of  the  great  drama  of 
the  day  qua  drama — Ibsen,  Hauptmann, 
Sudermann,  Hervieu,  Schnitzler — they 
have  no  place,  in  that  they  are  in  no  sense 
conditioned  by  the  fundamental  laws  of 
the  drama.  They  are  utterly  deficient  in 
masterly  portraiture  of  character,  the 
plav  and  interplay  of  vital  emotions,  and 
that  indispensable  conflict  of  wills  and 
passions  without  which  drama  is  mere 
sound  and  fury,  signifying  nothing.  By 
reason  of  his  esthetic  idleness  and  luxury 
as  a  faineant,  Wilde  was  incapable  of  sus- 
tained and  laborious  p re-occupation  with 
his  art  work;  it  was  true,  though  sound- 
ing like  the  vainest  of  poses,  that  even 
when  his  life  was  freest  from  business 
cafes  he  never  had,  as  he  put  it,  either 
the  time  or  the  leisure  for  his  art.  In 
the  deepest  sense,  he  lacked  what  Walter 
Pater  called  the  responsibility  of  the  artist 
to  his  material ;  although  this  is  not  to 
say  that  he  failed  to  recognize,  from  the 
standpoint  of  style,  the  beauty  of  the 
material  he  employed,  and  to  use  that 


beautv  as  a  factor  in  producing  the  es- 
thetic effect.  Like  Thomas  Griffiths 
Wainewright,  he  sought  to  put  into  prac- 
tice the  theory  that  "life  itself  is  an  art, 
and  has  its  modes  of  styles  no  less  than  the 
arts  that  seek  to  express  it."  And  the 
great  drama  of  his  life,  as  he  confessed  to 
Andre  Gide,  was  that  he  had  given  his 
genius  to  his  life,  to  his  work  only  his 
talent. 

Indeed,  there  is  no  term  which  so  per- 
fectly expresses  the  tone  of  Wilde's  come- 
dies as  nonchalance.  The  astounding 
thing  is,  that  in  his  sincere  effort  to  amuse 
the  public,  he  best  succeeded  with  that 
public  by  holding  it  up  to  scorn  and  ridi- 
cule with  the  lightest  satire.  One  of  the 
most  self-revelative  of  his  paradoxes  is 
the  opinion  that  life  is  far  too  serious  ever 
to  be  discussed  seriously.  "If  we  are  to 
deliver  a  philosophy,"  says  Mr.  Chester- 
ton, in  speaking  of  contemporary  life,  "it 
must  be  in  the  manner  of  the  late  Mr. 
Whistler  and  the  ridentem  dicere  verum. 
If  our  heart  is  to  be  aimed  at,  it  must  be 
with  the  rapier  of  Stevenson,  which  runs 
through  without  either  pain  or  puncture." 
If  our  brain  is  to  be  aroused,  he  might 
have  added,  it  must  be  with  the  scintillat- 
ing paradox  and  enlivening  epigram  of 
Oscar  Wilde.  Horace  Walpole  once  said 
that  the  world  is  a  comedy  for  the  man 
of  thought,  a  tragedy  for  the  man  of 
feeling.  He  forgot  to  sav  that  it  is  a  farce 
for  the  man  of  wit.  It  was  Wilde's  creed' 
that  ironic  imitation  of  the  contrasts, 
absurdities  and  inconsistencies  of  life,  its 
fads  and  fancies,  its  quips  and  cranks,  its 
follies  and  foibles,  give  far  more  pleasure 
and  amusement  than  faithful  portraiture 
of  the  dignifr  of  life,  its  seriousness  and 
profundity,  its  tragedy,  pitv  and  terror. 
His  comedies  are  marked,  not  by  consis- 
tency in  the  characters,  continuity  of  pur- 
pose, or  unity  of  action,  but  only  by  per- 
sistence of  the  satire  vein  and  prevalence 
of  the  comic  mood.  Like  Flaubert,  WRlde 
gloried  in  demoralizing  the  public,  and 
he  denied  with  his  every  breath  Sidney 
Lanier's  dictum  that  art  has  no  enemy  so 
unrelenting  as  cleverness.  His  whole  lit- 
erary career  was  one  long,  defiant  chal- 
lenge to  Zola's  pronunciamento : 
"L'Homme  de  genee  n'a  jamais  d' esprit" 

While  the  dialogue  of  Wilde's  comedies, 
as  the  brilliant  Viennese  critic,  Hermann 
Bahr,  has  said,  contains  more  verve  and 


THE  THEATRE  OF  OSCAR  WILDE. 


17 


than  all  the  French,  German  and 
Italian  comedies  put  together,  nevertheless 
our  taste  is  outraged  because  Wilde  makes 
no  effort  -to  paint  character  and  employs 
a  conventional  and  time-worn  technique. 
Wilde's  figures  are  lacking  in  vitality  and 
humanity;  it  is  impossible  to  believe  in 
their  existence. 

They  are  mere  mouthpieces  for  the 
diverting  ratiocinations  of  their  au- 
thor, often  appearing  less  as  personalities 
than  as  personified  customs,  embodied 
prejudices  and  Conventions  of  'English 
life.  By  means  of  these  pallid  figures, 
Wilde  has  at  least  admirably  succeeded  in 
interpreting  certain  sides  of  the  English 
national  character.  The  form  of  his 
comedies  approximates  to  that  of  the  best 
French  farces,  but  his  humor  sounds  a 
genuine  British  note.  There  is  no  es- 
caping the  impression,  however,  that  his 
characters  are  automatons  and  puppets — 
masks  which  barely  suffice  to  conceal  the 
lineaments  of  Wilde.  Here  we  see  the 
raisonneur  as  we  find  him  in  Dumas  fils, 
or  in  Sudermann.  It  is  in  this  way  thai 
Wilde  identifies  his  characters,  not  with 
their  prototypes  in  actual  life,  but  with 
himself. 

As  Bernard  Shaw  may  be  said  to  have 
invented  the  drama  of  dialectic,  so  Oscar 
Wilde  may  be  said  to  have  invented  the 
drama  of  conversation. 

Jean  Joseph  Renaud  and  Henri  de  Reg- 
nier  have  paid  eloquent  tributes  to  Wilde 
as  a  master  of  the  causerie.  A  great  lady 
once  said  of  him :  "When  he  is  speaking,  I 
see  round  his  head  a  luminous  aureole." 
The  mere  exaggeration  of  the  phrase  is 
testimony  to  Wilde's  maestria  in  utterance 
of  golden  words.  He  was  a  slave  to  the 
Scheherazade  of  his  fancy,  and  was  un- 
sparingly lavish  in  the  largess  of  his  wit. 
He  realized  that  he  was  a  past-master  in 
the  gentle  art  of  making  conversation,  and 
he  nonchalantly  ignored  Goethe's  pre- 
cept: "Bilde,  Kunstler,  rede  nicht!"  Phe 
result  is,  that  he  does  not  construct,  but 
only  sets  off  a  mine.  His  art  is  the  ex- 
pression of  his  enjoyment  of  verbal  pyro- 
technics. To  use  Baudelaire's  phrase,  he 
wrote  comedies  pour  etonner  les  sots,  and 
the  height  of  his  pleasure  was  epater  les 
bourgeois.  The  result  in  his  comedies, 
while  vastly  diverting,  is  deplorable  from 
the  standpoint  of  dramatic  art.  For  the 
conversations  are  disjointed,  and,  in  the 


dramatic  sense,  incoherent,  in  that  they 
live  only  for  the  moment,  and  not  at  all 
for  the  sake  of  elucidation  and  propul- 
sion of  the  dramatic  process.  The  com- 
parison with  Shaw  in  this  particular  im- 
mediately suggests  itself,  but  the  fun- 
damental distinction  consists  in  the  fact 
that  whereas  in  Shaw's  comedies  the  con- 
versation, witty  and  epigrammatic  to  a 
degree,  is  strictly  germane  to  the  action, 
with  Wilde  the  conversation,  with  all  its 
sparkling  brilliancy,  is  in  fact  subsidiary 
and  beside  the  mark.  As  Hagemann  has 
justly  said,  in  Wilde's  comedies  the  accent 
and  stress  is  thrown  wholly  upon  the  epi- 
grammatic content  of  the  dialogue. 

What,  after  all,  is  the  secret  of  Wilde's 
success?  What  is  the  quintessence  of  his 
art  as  a  dramatist?  For,  say  what  one 
will,  Wilde's  comedies  were — and  are — 
immensely  successful;  and  his  plays, 
whether  comedy  or  tragedy,  are  art  even 
if  they  are  not  always  drama.  Hermann 
Bahr  refused  to  consider  Wilde  as  frivol- 
ous, maintaining  that  his  paradoxes  rest 
upon  a  profound  insight  into  humanity. 
"Wilde  says  serious  and  often  sad  things 
that  convulse  us  with  merriment,  not  be- 
cause he  is  not  'deep,'  but  precisely  be- 
cause he  is  deeper  than  seriousness  and 
sadness,  and  has  recognized  their  nullity.-'' 
Perhaps  the  name  with  which  Wilde's  is 
most  frequently  coupled  is  that  of  his  fel- 
low countryman  and  fellow  townsman, 
Bernard  Shaw.  And  it  is  interesting  to 
read  Shaw's  characterization  of  Wilde, 
with  whose  unique  artistic  views  and  liter- 
ary methods  he  has  many  points  of  con- 
tact : 

"Ireland  is,  of  all  countries,  the  most 
foreign  to  England,  and  to  the  Irishman 
(and  Mr.  Wilde  is  almost  as  acutely  Irish 
as  the  Iron  Duke  of  Wellington),  there 
is  nothing  in  the  world  ouite  so  exquisite- 
ly comic  as  an  Englishman's  seriousness. 
It  becomes  tragic,  perhaps,  when  the  Eng- 
lishman acts  on  it;  but  that  occurs  too 
seldom  to  be  taken  into  account,  a  fact 
which  intensifies  the  humor  of  the  situa- 
tion, the  total  result  being  the  English- 
man utterly  unconscious  of  his  real  self, 
Mr.  Wilde  keenly  observant  of  it,  and 
playing  on  the  self-unconsciousness  with 
irresistible  humor,  and  finallv.  of  course, 
the  Englishman  annoyed  with  himself  for 
being  amused  at  his  own  expense,  an-I 
for  being  unable  to  convict  Mr.  Wilde 


18 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


of  what  seems  an  obvious  misunderstand- 
ing of  human  nature.  He  is  shocked,  too, 
at  the  danger  to  the  foundations  of  society 
when  seriousness  is  publicly  laughed  at. 
And  to  complete  the  oddity  of  the  situa- 
tion, Mr.  Wilde,  touching  what  he  him- 
self reverences,  is  absolutely  the  most 
sentimental  dramatist  of  the  day. — The 
Saturday  Review,  January  12,  1895.) 

At  bottom  and  in  essence,  Wilde  is  a 
master  of  the  art  of  selection.  He  is 
eminently  successful  in  giving  the  most 
diverting  character  to  our  moments  as 
thev  pass.  His  art  is  the  apotheosis  of  the 
moment;  and  what  mav  not  be  said,  he 
once  asked,  for  the  moment  and  the  "mo- 
ment's monument  ?"  Art  itself,  he  averred, 
is  "really  a  form  of  exaggeration,  and 
selection,  which  is  the  very  spirit  of  art, 
is  nothing  more  than  an  intensified  mode 
of  over-emphasis."  Wilde  was  a  painter, 
Neo-Tmpressionist.  From  the  palette  of 
his  observation,  which  bore  all  the  radiant 
shades  and  colors  of  his  temperament,  he 
selected  and  then  laid  upon  the  canvas 
manv  brilliant  yet  distinct  points  of 
color.  When  seen  in  the  proper  light  and 
from  the  just  distance,  the  canvas  takes 
on  the  appearance  of  a  complete  picture — 
quaint,  unique,  marvelous.  It  is  only  by 
taking  precisely  Wilde's  point  of  view  that 
the  spectator  is  enabled  to  synthesize  the 


isolated  brilliant  points  into  an  harmoni- 
ous whole.  Oscar  Wilde  is  a  Paintilliste. 
Wilde  called  one  of  his  plays  "The  Im- 
portance of  Being  Earnest."  In  his  in- 
verted way,  he  aimed  at  teaching  the  world 
the  importance  of  being  frivolous.  Only 
from  this  standpoint  is  it  possible  to  ap- 
preciate, in  any  real  sense,  Wilde  the 
comic  dramatist.  Wilde  is  the  arch  enemy 
of  boredom  and  ennui;  we  can  always 
enjoy  him  in  his  beau  role  as  a  purveyor 
of  amusement  and  a  killer  of  time.  "I 
took  the  drama — the  most  objective  form 
which  art  recognizes/'  he  said  in  De 
Profundis,  "and  made  of  it  an  individual 
genre,  like  the  lyric  poem  or  the  sonnet; 
thereby  I  widened  its  scope  and  enriched 
it  with  new  characteristics."  This  is  true 
of  "Salome,"  the  exotic,  decadent  flower 
of  that  art  which  Maeterlinck  tentatively 
initiated  in  'La  Princesse  Maleine,"  but 
subsequently  resigned  in  "Monna  Vanna." 
It  is  also  true  that  his  comedies  approxi- 
mate to  a  new  genre,  peculiarly  Wilde's 
own  invention.  But  we  are  warned  by  his 
own  confession  not  to  take  Wilde,  as 
dramatist,  too  seriously.  "The  plays  are 
not  great,"  he  once  said  to  Andre  Gide. 
"I  think  nothing  of  them — but  if  you  only 
knew  how  amusing  they  are!"  And  the 
author  of  "The  Decay  of  Lying"  added: 
"Most  of  them  are  the  results  of  bets !" 


BY    H.    FELIX    CROSS 


Where  the  river  rushes  swift 

Thro'  the  canyon's  rocky  rift, 
Go  I  angling  'neath  the  tangling  alder  trees  that  skyward  lift, 

And  with  rod  and  willow  reel, 

Soft  to  some  deep  pool  I  steal, 
Cast,  and  lo !  the  crystal  waters  yield  a  leaping,  finny  gift. 

0  the  wild  joy  of  it  all 

By  the  splashing  waterfall, 

While  from  out  his  piney  cradle  sharp  the  tree  squir'l  sounds 
his  call; 

Wihile  the  sunshine  thro'  a  rent 

In  the  alder's  dark,  green  tent, 
Flashes,  glancing  on  the  dancing,  swirling  pool  below  the  fall. 

While  the  eagle,  soaring  wide, 

Swift  the  roaring  blast  does  ride, 

Circling  round  sky-piercing  peaks  green-clad  with  pines  on  every 
side; 

And  the  mocking-bird  his  song 

Blithely  warbles  clear  and  strong; 
And  the  locust  sends  his  echoes  ringing  from  the  mountain  side ! 

In  the  waning  light  of  day, 

Back  to  camp  I  wend  my  way, 
And  the  shining  sun  reclining  sends  a  slanting  golden  ray. 

Stealing  o'er  the  peaks  it  glides; 

Pink  and  purple  color  tides 
Softly  fading,  darker  shading,  and  in  the  dying  of  the  day. 

Eound  the  camp-fire's  flick'ring  gleam, 

Smiling,  happy  faces  beam, 
In  the  glancing  light  the  dancing  shadows  dusky  spectres  seem; 

And  old  songs  and  stories  old 

Are  remembered,  sung  and  told. 

While  the  fairies  hold  their  revels  in  the  moonlight  on  the 
stream. 

Now  the  moon  does  vigil  keep, 
Twinkling  eyes  of  heaven  peep 
Thro'  the  leaf-bow'r  of  the  camp,  around  the  peaks  the  night 

mists  creep, 

Song  and  laughter  now  are  still, 
Silence  echoes  from  the  hill, 

And  sweet  dreams  flit  softly  round  us,  for  the  camp  is  locked  in 
sleep. 

Monrovia,  Cal. 


BY    ALLEN    H.    HODGSON 


A  view  of  Mt.  Lassen. 

THE  early  forests  of  America  were 
the  result  of  nature's  unaided 
forces  working  for  countless  ages. 
Their  grandeur  and  magnitude  were  un- 
surpassed by  any  other  country.  This 
condition  did  not  last,  however,  for  with 
the  coming  of  the  early  pioneers,  whose 
only  thought  about  trees  was  to  cut  them 
down,  there  began  a  gradual  destruction 
of  the  forests.  The  indifference  of  tha 
past  Americans  toward  the  preservation 
of  the  forests  for  the  benefit  of  future 
generations  is  being  realized.  The  greit 
business  and  forest  interests  of  the  nation 
have  been  joined  together.  The  American 
people  have  at  last  begun  to  value  their 


timbered  regions,  and  desire  their  protec- 
tion. Forest  reserves  have  been  estab- 
lished, and  the  necessity  of  preserving  the 
public  forests  permanently  is  leading  to 
a  national  policy  concerning  them. 

The  needs  of  the  nation  demand  that 
the  forests  should  thrive  and  flourish,  for 
the  manv  national  industries  are  directly 
and  indirectly  dependent  upon  them.  The 
rain  fall  is  increased,  floods  are  held  back, 
soil  is  kept  in  place  and  the  flow  of  rivers 
equalized  because  of  the  forests,  and  were 
they  destroyed  the  wild  game  could  not 
live.  These  uses,  in  addition  to  many 
others,  show  the  value  of  the  forests  to 
a  country  and  its  advancement.  Since 
more  wood  is  used  in  our  own  land  at  the 
present  time  than  ever  before,  a  timber 
famine  is  inevitable  unless  the  present 
rate  of  forest  destruction  in  America  is 
checked.  The  cuttir-  of  timber,  for  what- 
ever purpose,  should  be  under  the  most 
careful  supervision.  Not  only  should  the 
older  forests  be  protected,  but  new  ones 
started  and  cared  for.  The  accomplish- 
ment of  all  this  great  work  of  saving  the 
forests  lies  in  the  hands  of  the  forester, 
and  it  is  he  who  is  and  will  continue  io 
be  one  of  the  great  influences  ensuring  the 
prosperitv  of  this  and  of  the  future  ages. 

The  forester  of  to-day  is  highly  edu- 
cated, not  only  along  one  line,  but  along 
several.  He  understands  botany,  geol- 
ogy, physical  .q-eography,  chemistry,  hydo- 
graphy,  as  well  &s  'technical  civil  en- 
gineering, and  is  able  to  handle  all  busi- 
ness dealings  with  lumber.  It  is  for  him 
to  heln  the  fore3t  render  its  best  service 
to  man,  in  such  a  way  as  to  increase  rather 
than  to  diminish,  its  usefulness  in  the 
future.  The  demands  which  mankind 
have  made  unon  the  forest  must  be  met 
steadilv  and  permanentlv :  therefore,  it  is 
the  prime  object  of  the  forester  to  make 
the  forest  produce  wood  of  the  best  kind 
continually.  The  essential  condition  for 
the  best  health  and  productiveness  of  tim- 
bered sections  is  the  timely  removal  >f 
matuje  trees,  and  it  is  the  forester  who 


THE   FORESTER   AND   HIS   WORK. 


knows  just  when  certain  trees  are  ready  ', ) 
be  cut  down,  and  how  to  cut  them.  Al- 
though the  forester  works  from  an  eco- 
nomic point  of  view — in  fact,  he  wishes 
to  secure  the  greatest  amount  of  the  most 
useful  material  in  the  shortest  time,  he 
accomplishes  his  purpose  by  a  wise  use 
of  the  forest,  and  in  no  other  way. 

All  life  in  the  forest  is  under  the  for- 
ester's care — the  game,  insects,  fungi  and 
trees.  As  a  bontanist,  in  order  to  rear 
and  protect  trees,  he  knows  all  about  their 
life  and  habits;  he  understands  the  re- 
quirements of  each  particular  variety  from 
the  time  that  the  seed  falls  to  the  ground 
and  germinates,  through  its  various  stages 


as  it  is  applied  to  the  composition  of  wood 
and  the  transpiration  of  plants  and  trees. 
The  forester  looks  after  the  reproduction 
of  his  crops  systematically.  He  knows 
what  trees  are  undesirable  and  removes 
them  in  order  to  make  room  for  the  use- 
ful ones.  Artificial  replanting  of  a  for- 
est is  sometimes  necessarv,  but  natural 
regeneration  is  nearly  alwavs  possible.  J.D 
the  reproduction  of  a  forest,  it  is  very 
important  that  the  forester  should  know 
all  about  the  various  means  of  seed  dis- 
tribution, and  how  to  transplant  young 
trees.  The  tasks  involved  in  the  refores- 
tation of  sand-dunes  and  barren  moun- 
tain sides  are  hard  ones,  and  the  forester 


A  forest  ranger. 

until  in  old  age  it  dies,  decays  and  falls 
to  the  ground.  He  is  familiar  not  only 
with  their  lives  individually  but  collec- 
tively, as  most  of  his  problems  are  con- 
nected not  with  single  trees,  but  with 
great  forests.  For  this  reason  the  for- 
ester must  be  conversant  with  many  .f 
the  laws  of  nature.  The  great  struggle 
for  existence,  and  the  survival  of  the  fit- 
test, are  among  the  most  important  of 
these  laws.  To  combine  these  and  learn  to 
make  them  brin~  forth  the  best  possible 
results,  is  the  art  of  science.  It  is  also 
the  art  of  the  forester.  Directly  associated 
with  his  knowledge  of  botany,  is  the  for- 
ester's knowledge  of  chemistry;  especially 


who  is  able  to  successfully  accomplish 
them  possesses  a  marked  degree  of  skill 
in  his  work. 

Possessing  a  good  working  knowledge 
of  physical  geography,  geologv  and  hydro- 
graphy, the  forester  is  able  to  meet  and 
conquer  many  difficulties.  He  knows  the 
relation  the  mountains  and  streams  have 
to  the  forest,  and  is  able  to  note  the  in- 
fluence the  forest  has  upon  the  atmos- 
phere and  climate  of  a  locality.  He  dis- 
covers in  what  wav  it  affects  the  rainfall 
and  evaporation,  and  can  determine  how 
the  various  earth  and  rock  formations  and 
constituents  of  the  soil  may  increase  or 
retard  the  growth  of  forests.  The  forester 


2'2 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


understands  and  is  able  to  use  all  of  the 
instruments  for  measuring  the  tempera- 
ture and  evaporation  of  water,  and  can 
describe  or  form  maps  of  streams  and 
lakes,  showing,  not  only  their  geographical 
position,  but  their  position  with  reference 
to  the  climatic  conditions  and  forest 
growth,  from  which  many  valuable  and 
interesting  problems  can  be  drawn. 

As  an  engineer,  the  forester  has  much 
to  do.  If  thoroughly  competent,  he  is  able 
to  make  line  surveys,  as  well  as  topo- 
graphical maps  of  forest  property.  Engi- 
neering ability  is  required  in  building 
roads,  railroads,  flumes  and  other  perma- 
nent means  of  transportation.  To  get  the 
forest  products  transported  as  cheaply, 


ting  it  in  skidways,  and  he  also  takes  care 
that  the  trees  are  not  cut  too  high.  After 
the  timber  is  cut,  the  forester  knows  how 
much  per  thousand  feet  it  will  cost  to  get 
it  converted  into  lumber. 

The  work  required  of  the  forester  of 
private,  State  or  national  property  calls 
for  practically  the  same  amount  of  edu- 
cation and  experience  along  the  lines  men- 
tioned. Having  sufficient  knowledge  of 
all  the  necessary  subjects  that  come  in  his 
work,  the  forester  is  ready  for  business. 
After  making  a  preliminary  cruise  of  the 
land  he  is  to  take  charge  of,  the  first  thing 
to  be  done  is  to  make  an  estimate  of  the 
actual  amount  of  useful  timber  upon  it. 
The  forester  accomplishes  this  by  con- 


in  the  logging  camp. 

but  as  efficiently,  as  possible,  is  the  for- 
ester's aim  as  an  engineer. 

The  forester,  as  a  practical  man  of  busi- 
ness and  executive  ability,  knows  his  for- 
est thoroughly,  and  is  capable  of  man- 
aging all  work  done  by  his  subordinates 
in  the  field.  He  knows  the  lumbering 
business  from  beginning  to  end,  and  is 
fully  competent  to  take  charge  of  the  saw 
mills  and  lumbering  camps  in  the  forests 
under  his  control.  It  is  his  duty  to  select 
sites  for  camps  and  to  make  working 
plans  for  the  proper  cutting  of  the  tim- 
ber. He  does  not  allow  valuable  timber 
to  be  used  in  wasteful  ways,  such  as  put- 


ducting  valuation  surveys,  which  perhaps 
is  the  most  important  part  of  all  his 
work. 

The  next  important  thing  in  the  man- 
agement of  a  forest  is  the  analyzing  of  the 
stems  or  trunks  of  various  kinds  and  sizes 
of  useful  trees.  This  work  is  done  by 
parties  of  from  five  to  ten  men,  and  id 
exceedingly  interesting,  as  well  as  in- 
structive work  for  beginners  in  forestry. 
The  condition  of  each  tree,  whether  sound 
or  not,  the  soundness  of  its  trunk,  and 
the  length  of  the  logs  into  which  it  could 
be  best  sawed,  is  recorded.  It  is  the  for- 
ester's object  to  find  the  average  rate  of 


THE    FORESTER   AND   HIS    WORK, 


growth  and  then  compute  how  long  it  will 
take  a  tree,  under  certain  conditions,  to 
realize  a  desired  diameter.  The  age  of  a 
tree  is  learned  by  counting  the  number 
of  annual  rings  of  growth  at  its  stump. 
All  points  in  the  history  of  a  tree  are 
definitely  found  out  and  their  character- 
istics learned. 

The  final  success  of  a  forester  is  large- 
ly dependent  upon  his  knowledge  of  silvi- 
culture, which  is  nearly  as  important  as 
the  data  gathered  from  the  surveys  and 
stem  analyses.  As  a  part  of  that  know- 
ledge, he  knows  under  just  what  conditions 
the  seeds  of  trees  will  best  germinate  and 
grow.  Unless  all  of  the  forester's  specifi- 
cations concerning  timber  are  upheld  by 
a  thorough  knowledge  of  silvics,  they  are 
not  likely  to  prove  of  value. 

After 'the  field  season  is  over,  the  for- 
ester still  has  much  office  work,  and  from 
the  conclusion  he  draws,  a  working  plan 
is  made  for  the  lumbering  of  the  forest. 
He  also  writes  recommendations  concern- 
ing the  prevention  of  soil  erosion,  the 
best  means  of  preventing  and  overcoming 
forest  fires,  which,  by  the  way,  is  his  great- 
est obstacle,  and  ways  of  fighting  the 
many  other  enemies  of  the  forest,  such  as 
insects  and  certain  kinds  of  fungi.  In 
addition,  he  also  determines  the  methods 
for  the  grazing  of  stock,  of  various  kinds, 
and  at  what  seasons  it  will  be  most  profit- 


in  the  logging  camp. 


The    virgin    forest. 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


able  and  cause  the  least  amount  of  dam- 
age. With  all  the  data  he  has  collected, 
he  makes  maps  representing  the  rise  in 
height  of  trees  with  their  increase  in  di- 
amiter,  and  also  their  rise  in  height  with 
the  increase  in  age.  All  this  work  is  done 
before  the  real  facts  of  the  field  survey 
can  be  determined.  When  this  has  been 
accomplished,  the  true  results  of  the  man- 
agement of  the  particular  tract  or  forest 
claim  under  his  care  is  known. 

The  development  of  such  practical  for- 
estry is  universally  a  national  question, 
and  few  governments  are  without  a  per- 
manent forest  commission.  The  benefits 
derived  from  the  application  of  proper 
forestry  principles,  under  the  manage- 
ment of  trained  foresters  in  the  Govern- 
ment service,  is  constantly  leading  private 
timber  owners  to  seek  the  help  of  effi- 
cient men  to  take  charge  of  their  forests. 
Forest  management,  therefore,  has  opened 
a  wide  field  for  the  employment  of  men 
of  strong  character  and  ability — men  who 


are  not  afraid  to  meet  difficulties  and  en- 
dure hardships. 

Although  the  life  of  a  forester  is  not  an 
easy  one,  and  requires  constant  mental  ac- 
tivity, there  is  something  about  it  that 
appeals  to  the  nobler,  finer  self  of  every 
man.  Not  every  one  has  the  privilege  of 
that  enjoyment  of  the  wild,  which  is  so 
great  a  part  of  the  routine  of  the  forest- 
er's daily  life. 

There  is  always  something  new  in  his 
profession — something  about  the  trees  to 
discover — untrodden  regions  to  explore. 
By  continual  association  with  nature  and 
the  spiritual  influence  and  inspiration  of 
the  forest,  he  is  made  a  better  man — one 
whose  life  counts  for  something  in  the  ad- 
vancement of  all  humanity. 

To  this  end  his  whole  life  is  given,  and 
there  lives  no  one  more  worthy  of  our 
honor  and  respect  or  more  deserving  of  a 
nation's  pride  and  homage  than"  the  for- 
ester— the  man  of  this  and  of  all  ages  to 
come. 


BY    ALOIS   DUNBAR 


"Take  heart  o'  grace."    The  counsel  wise 
Glowed  on  her  lips  and  in  her  eyes. 

"Never  be  downcast.    Hear  my  creed : 
'Who  keeps  on  trying  must  succeed!' 
Honest  endeavor  dignifies ! 

"Persist !    I  think  you  sure  to  rise, 
When  once  your  foes  who  criticise 

Are  proven  wrong — no  more  I'll  plead- 
'Take  heart !'"':     Oh,  Grace! 

Take  heart  I  will !    That  word  applies. 

Just  what  My  Lady  doth  advise 

Will  T  achieve !    In  truth  and  deed, 
What  man  could  fail  to  win  the  lead 

If  she  but  let  him — as  the  prize — 
Take  heart  o'  Grace  ? . 


BY    G.    F.    PAUL 


A  mountain  Indian. 

THE  traveler  speeding  southward 
through  Mexico  is  roused  at  Ira- 
puato  by  the  cry  of  "Fresas,  fre- 
sas !"  and  on  opening  the  window,  a  dozen 
fragrant  baskets  of  tempting  strawberries 
are  held  up  to  tickle  his  eye  and  to  tap  his 
pocket-book.  This  is  a  daily  occurrence 
the  year  round,  and  of  course  with  the 
passing  of  the  months,  the  venders  learn 
that  the  largest  berries  should  be  placed 
on  top,  so  as  not  to  be  crushed  by  the 
smaller  ones.  Twenty-five  cents  in  silver 
will,  however,  buy  enough  berries  to  feed 
a  family,  while  the  unique  basket  that 
holds  the  fruit  will  answer  a  dozen  pur- 
poses. As  Irapuato  is  famous  for  its 
strawberries,  so  Aguas  Calientes  is  the 
place  for  drawn  work,  Leon  for  leather 
work,  and  Apizaco  for  carved  coffee  canes. 
Queretaro,  the  place  of  Maximilian's  exe- 


cution, is  the  great  opal  town.  Before 
the  passenger  alights,  he  is  beset  by  a 
swarm  of  opal  merchants,  who  carry  their 
stores  with  them  in  little  black  papers, 
and  cannot  be  held  in  check,  even  by  the 
high  iron  railing. 

Every  toothless  woman  on  the  streets 
will  try  to  rival  Tiffany,  the  street  car 
conductor  will  proffer  a  few  opals  as  he 
politely  collects  the  fares;  the  waiter  will 
try  to  say  a  word  about  a  few  choice  opals 
that  a  friend  has  just  left  with  him,  while 
the  straight-haired  "mozo"  will  let  the 
light  fall  on  his  little  assortment,  as  he 
leads  the  way  to  a  longed-for  resting- 
room. 

But  if  Queretaro  has  more  opals  than 
fine-toothed  combs,  Cela^a  is  the  greai 
candy  town,  where  gallons  of  milk  and 
tons  of  sugar  are  daily  made  up  into 
dulces,  and  very  toothsome  are  these 
sweets.  They  are  reputed  to  be  the  best 
in  Mexico,  which  is  saying  a  good  deal, 
when  it  is  considered  that  most  delicious 
candies  are  made  at  the  extensive  French 
dulcerias  in  Mexico  City.  In  Puebla, 
SAveet  potatoes  are  turned  into  candies;  at 
San  Luis  Potosi,  the  same  thing  is  done 
to  the  cactus,  while  at  Vera  Cruz  the 
squash  is  used  to  satisfy  many  a  sweet 
tooth.  A  woman  declares  that  dirt  and 
dulces  make  a  combination  altogether -too 
overpowering  for  an  American  stomach. 
"Dulces!"  she  exclaimed  to  a  persistent 
vender  of  the  dainties.  "Dulces  in  all  this 
filth !" 

A  fringe  of  beggars  usually  adorns 
the  candy  vendor.  From  these  lugubri- 
ous creatures  come  continuous  cries  for 
centavos.  The  wonder  is  where  they  can 
put  a  penny  in  their  ragged  clothes  after 
their  eager  fingers  have  clutched  it.  The 
term  pordioseros  is  applied  to  these  whin- 
ing mendicants.  In  plain  English,  they 
would  be  known  as  "for-God's-sakers." 
And  when  Iheir  penny  has  been  cast  them 
for  their  song  or  grimace  or  mute  appeal, 
they  usually  add  with  unintentional 
irony,  "May  God  give  you  more." 


26 


OVEKLAiNTD  MONTHLY. 


Candy  vendor. 


If  peddlers  abound  at  the  railway  sta- 
tion, their  number  is  legion  at  the  market, 
the  one  institution,,  with  the  church,  that 
furnishes  the  average  Mexican  town  a 
reason  for  existing.  In  planning  for  mar- 
ket days,  a  pack  of  scrawny  vegetables  Is 
culled  with  the  greatest  care.  With  this 
upon  her  back,  the  Zapotec  woman  starts 
for  the  market  r»lace,  be  it  twenty,  thirty 
or  even  forty  miles  distant.  The  trip  is 
so  planned  that  she  may  sleep  after  reel- 
ing off  a  score -of  miles  at  a  fox  trot;  then 
on  again  shortly  after  midnight,  that  she 
may  arrive  on  the  scene  of  action  with  the 
peep  of  day.  At  these  markets  chile  and 
charcoal  vie  with  tortillas  and  tamales. 

Little  pyramids  of  peaches  and  pome- 
granates rise  haughtily  up  from  populous 
blankets,  sandals  mingle  on  friendly 
terms  with  sweets  while  the  brooms  and 
the  beans  fill  the  gap  between  a  peprjer 
and  a  ™".  In  manv  cities,  vegetables, 
fruits  and  nuts  are  counted  out  in  little 
heaps,  and  only  by  buying  each  pile  sepa- 
rately can  large  quantities  of  a  desired  ar- 
ticle be  obtained.  Wholesale  dealings  are 
stoutlv  over-ruled. 

In  Mexico,  the  burro  is  surmosed  to  ">e 


At    the    market   place. 


The  national  wheelbarrow. 


the  beast  of  burden,  and  on  its  back  are 
fastened  packs  of  everv  description.  The 
Mexican  is  a  ^ast-master  at  doing  up  a 
load  for  his  burro.  Such  things  as  bricks 


have  a  decided  tendency  to  resist  all  efforts 
to  tie  them  together  into  hundred-pound 
bundles  by  means  of  ropes,  yet  burros,  or 
even  boys,  may  often  be  seen  plodding 


Cargadores    with    piano. 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


along  under  such  a  burden.  How  the 
bricks  ever  hold  together  is  a  mystery- 
The  burro's  great  rival  as  a  pack-animal 
is  the  Mexican  peon  himself.  That  this 
omnipresent  burden-bearing  has  been  go- 
ing on  in  Mexico  tor  at  least  a  century  is 
shown  by  the  statement  of  Baron  Hum- 
boldt,  who  says  of  the  tenateros  in  the 
mine  he  visited,  that  they  were  "carrying 
for  six  hours  a  weight  ranging  from  225 
to  350  pounds  on  their  backs,  in  a  very 
high  temperature,  ascendino-  eight  or  ten 
times,  without  rest,  ladders  of  1,800 
rounds."  The  famous  savant  adds  that 
this  might  well  confute  the  belief  that  the 
tropics  are  enervating.  History  is  dotted 
with  instances  where  the  equipment  anj 
many  of  the  timbers  of  inland  churches 
and  other  structures,  were  practically  car- 
ried hundreds  of  miles  overland. 

The  most  notable  feat,  perhaps,  was 
that  performed  by  eiarht  thousand  Tlasca- 
lans.  These  trusty  allies  of  Cortes  car- 
ried on  their  shoulders  timbers  for  thir- 
teen brigantines  manv  leagues  across  the 
mountains,  that  he  might  recapture  the 
City  of  Mexico,  then  held  by  the  prince, 
Guauhtemoctzin.  No  doubt,  many  de- 
scendants of  these  very  Tlascalans  work 
in  the  Pachuca  and  Guanajuato  mines. 
What  with  a  string  of  rickety  ladders, 
where  every  foothold  is  slippery  with 


Meat   cargadore.    City  of  Mexico. 


water,  and  what  with  the  frontera,  or 
brow-band,  pulled  tight  with  the  dead 
weight  at  his  back,  no  wonder  the  peon's 
poor  brains  are  molded  into  a  pear-shaped 
peak  that  will  not  hold  a  hat. 

Tn  answer  to  the  query  as  to  why  some 
enterprising  firm  did  not  start  up  in  the 
draying  business  in  Mexico  City,  an 
American  resident  said :  "It  wouldn't  pay 
them.  These  greasers  would  put  them  out 
of  business  in  a  few  days.  These  men  are 
old  hands  at  the  work,  and  can  get  around 
in  out-of-the-way  places  where  a  big  dray 
couldn't  budge.  Just  the  other  day  a  man 
told  me  of  one  of  these  cargodores  carry- 
ing a  safe  for  half  a  mile  that  weighed 
nearly  half  a  ton,  and  after  he'd  made  the 
trip  he  lit  a  cigarette  and  tramped  off, 
looking  for  another  mountain  to  move. 
There's  a  story  going  the  rounds  about  an 
American  contractor  at  Zacatecas  who 
tried  to  introduce  the  use  of  the  wheelbar- 
row. The  Mexican  laborer  loaded  it  and 
then  managed  to  put  it  on  his  knotty  head 
and  carried  it  into  the  building.  The 
contractor  tried  to  show  him  how  it  should 
be  run,  and  the  greaser  soon  caught  on; 
but  after  he'd  dumped  his  load,  he  insist- 
ed on  putting  the  wheelbarrow  on  his  head 
and  carrying  it  back  to  the  brick-pile. 

For  personal  appearance  the  charcoal 
vendors  must  be  awarded  the  palm.  These 
carboneros  have  a  lucrative  profession, 
for  charcoal  is  in  great  demand  through- 
out Mexico.  Their  bodies  are  usually  so 
begrimed  as  to  make  perfect  blackamoors 
of  them.  Some  of  them  have  a  curious 
custom  of  wearing  one  trouser  leg  rolled 
high,  revealing  a  slender,  shining  limb. 
If  asked  why  he  wears  his  trousers  so,  the 
carbonero  will  probably  reply,  "Es  cos- 
tumbre  del  pais."  (It  is  the  custom  of 
the  country.) 

It  is  not  to  be  expected  that  the  hun- 
dreds of  vendors  will  pass  along  the 
streets  without  crying  their  wares.  Each 
call,  or  grito,  is  distinct  from  the  other, 
and  is  an  ancestral  inheritance.  Their 
common  characteristic  is  the  prolongation 
of  the  various  notes,  which  are  sung, 
rather  than  shouted.  Whether  it  be  the 
vendor  of  cut-straw  or  the  milkman,  the 
seller  of  she'ep's  heads  or  the  more  plain- 
tive tamalera,  each  cry  will  have  about  it 
a  charming  originality.  No  more  pleas- 
ing matin  can  be  found  than  the  melodi- 
ous words  of  the  gardener,  "Com pro,  usted 


Pack  train  returning  from  market. 


A  light  load. 


Water   carriers    at  -Querataro. 


PEDDLERS  AND  PACK  HORSES  IN  MEXICO. 


31 


Water   carrier   of   Guanajuato. 


jitomate,  chicharos,  ejote,  caldbacitaf 
(Won't  you  buy  tomatoes,  peas,  beans, 
pumpkins.) 

Guanajuato  has  in  its  aguador  or  water 
man,  the  most  picturesque  provider  in  the 
Republic.  Wliile  his  usefulness  is  being 
narrowed  by  the  laying  of  prosaic  water- 
pipes,  yet  he  will  always  play  an  import- 
ant part  in  many  Mexican  households. 
The  Guanajuato  aguador  tramps  along, 
bearing  on  his  back  a  four-foot  jar,  not 
made  of  earthenware,  but  of  leather. 

"The  hills  are  so  steep  and  the  streets  are 
so  narrow, 

He  can't  carry  earthen  jars  on  a  wheel- 
barrow." 

The  water  carrier  in  Mexico  City  wears 
such  an  elaborate  armor  of  helmet, 
breastplate  and  thigh-pieces  that  nothing 
can  work  him  injury  except  the  sudden 
breaking  of  one  of  the  two  nicely  balanced 
jars  that  he  carries  fore  and  aft.  Some- 


times he  has  a  pouch  of  red  beans  with 
which  to  keep  tally  of  his  trips. 

If  there  is  a  senorita  in  one  of  the 
houses  he  supplies  with  water,  a  coin  and 
a  smile  may  transform  him  into  one  of 
Cupid's  postmen.  It  must  be  remembered 
that  a  strict  censorship  over  such  corre- 
spondence is  maintained  in  many  Mexi- 
can homes.  It  may  be,  however,  that  iihe 
aguador  is  made  an  unknowing  helper  in 
the  love-match.  The  artful  young  don 
may  fasten  the  missive  to  the  bottom  of 
the  chochocol,  or  water-jar,  by  means  of  a 
little  wax.  Consuelo,  previously  warned, 
is  in  waiting  at  the  gateway  when  the 
aguador  appears,  and  is,  of  course,  de- 
lighted to  see  him.  She  pays  the  postage 
with  a  thousand  kisses,  but  the  letter 
gets  them,  not  the  aguador.  And  then  in 
secret  she  will  read  a  hundred  times  the 
words  of  the  ardent  lover. 

After  several  appearances  of  the  lovev 
a  blissful  telegraphy  of  signs  and  smiles 


In  a  side  street  in  Mexico  City. 


32 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


and  countless  sighs  will  be  established. 
From  then  on,  the  aguador  and  the  car- 
bonero  may  play  important  parts  in  the 
courtship,  being  subsidized  by  the  novio 
to  carry  to  his  mistress  bouquets  within 
whose  depth  a  tinted  missive  lies  con- 
cealed. 

The  evening  hours  are  delightful  in 
Mexico  throughout  most  of  the  year,  tak- 
ing compassion  upon  such  young  men  as 
have  engagements  during  this  period  out- 
side a  grated  window  or  just  below  a  pro- 
jecting balcony.  Gradually  traffic  ceases 
aloDg  the  narrow  thoroughfares,  the  stars 
come  out,  and  the  moon  smiles  down  se- 
renely. Little  is  heard,  save  the  rattle  oi 
a  stray  cab  or  the  barking  of  a  watchful 
dog.  These  sounds,  too,  die  away  anl 
give  place  to  the  whistle  of  the  slim 
policeman  at  the  street  corner,  and  the 
clicking  tread  of  the  night  watchman  go- 
ing his  rounds.  And  through  it  all,  Con« 
suelo  listens  to  sweet  nothings  from 
Emilio,  who  stands  dallying  with  his 
broad  sombrero  and  inwardly  execrating 
the  immovable  gratings  or  the  dozen  feet 
of  space  that  separate  him  from  his 


•   novia. 


BY    MARGARET    ASHMUN 


Among  the  rocks  that  bound  the  river's  brawl, 

The  wild  crab's  straggling  branches  freshly  teem; 

Far  o'er  the  bank  its  ragged  shadows  fall — 

Its  glad  pink  blooms  rough-mirrored  in  the  stream. 

Not  meet  are  they  for  this  late  age  of  ours ; 

Their  strange,  sweet  fragrance  speaks  an  earlier  date; 
The  primal  world  is  theirs ;  they  seem  <the  flowers 

Wherewith  some  nymph  might  crown  her  satyr  mate. 


» 


BY    ARA    SHANE    CURTIS 


NO   telegraph  operator  employed  on 
the  Eantoul  district  in  the  spring 
of  '92   has    forgotten    Dispatcher 
John  W.  Rafferty,  who  handled  the  "sec- 
ond trick"  at  Eantoul  from  four  o'clock 
p.  m.  until  midnight,  during  that  season. 

I  say  this  with  more  certainty  because 
of  the  fact  that  he  was  exceedingly  un- 
popular. He  had  been  brought  to  Ran- 
toul by  Superintendent  Thurston  to  suc- 
c*eed  Dispatcher  Brooks,  who  was  dis- 
charged upon  a  quibble  at  the  instance 
of  the  superintendent  to  make  room  for 
Rafferty — or  so  we  choose  to  believe,  and 
we  were  prejudiced  accordingly.  Then  he 
was  not  favorably  regarded  by  either 
Trainmaster  Bement,  or  Chief  Despatch- 
er  Lorton,  who  looked  upon  him  in  much 
the  same  light  as  did  we. 

But  he  had  not  been  long  at  Rantoul 
before  we  discovered  that  he  was  a  par- 
ticular pet  of  Thurston's, — or  we  thought 
so  when  the  latter  pushed  him  to  the  po- 
sition of  second-trick  man  after  barely 
two  months'  service. 

"Got  better  stuff  in  him  than  any 
other  man  in  the  office !"  growled  the  sup- 
erintendent, when  Bement  remonstrated 
against  this  mark  of  open  favoritism. 

Thurston's  argument  was  unanswer- 
able. Rafferty's  ability  to  get  trains 
over  the  road  was  exceedingly  manifest, 
and  Bement  said  no  more  then.  It  was 
later,  wben  talking  the  matter  over  with 
Lorton,  that  he  waxed  profane  concerning 
the  stuff  that  was  in  the  second-trick  des- 
pateher,  damning  it  roundly. 

Rafferty's  unpopularity  seemed  to 
trouble  him  little.  He  might  have  dis- 
sipated the  prejudice  against  him  had  he 
niade  any  effort  in  that  direction;  but  he 
was  silent  and  unsocial  by  nature;  rarely 
speaking  during  the  eight  hours  which 
he  daily  spent  in  the  office.  His  compe- 
tency only  aggravated  the  situation.  For, 
in  spite  of  our  dislike,  we  were  forced 
to  recognize  that  a  better  dispatcher  than 
Rafferty  never  handled  a  key. 

He  had  need  of  all  his  skill,  for  there 


were  heavy  rains  in  that  section  for 
weeks  before  the  final  catastrophe,  and 
landslides  were  of  almost  daily  occurrence, 
while,  owing  to  the  sodden  condition  of 
the  road-bed,  other  accidents  were  fre- 
quent. In  addition  the  wires  were  almost 
habitually  "in  trouble",  because  of  the 
dampness,  and  the  stormy  winds. 

But  Rafferty  was  a  fair  electrician,  as 
well  as  a  train  runner;  and  directly  the 
first  trick  man's  transfer  was  complete, 
he  would  go  to  work  and  patch  up  a  de- 
cent wire  circuit.  In  this  respect,  the 
wire-chief  declared  he  could  accomplish 
wonders.  And,  no  matter  how  serious 
the  condition  of  affairs,  provided  the 
track  itself  was  intact,  he  managed  to 
keep  trains  moving,  and  bring  them 
through  with  no  undue  delays. 

Though  I  was  a  mere  lad  of  seven- 
teen. I  had  been  night-operator  in  the 
despatcher's  office  for  some  time;  and, 
as  I  was  ambitious  to  make  an  efficient 
train  handler  of  myself,  I  began  to  study 
Rafferty's  methods  closely; 

This  did  not  long  escape  him,  and  he 
manifested  a  disposition  to  aid  me,  after 
a  surly  fashion  of  his  own.  He  dressed 
me  down  savagely  for  any  mistakes  I  was 
so  unfortunate  as  to  commit;  but  I  soon 
learned  that  his  reproofs  covered  valuable 
hints,  by  which  I  was  not  slow  to  profit, 
and  grew  to  rather  welcome  them  than 
otherwise. 

Thus  an  odd  sort  of  friendship  was  fin- 
ally established  between  us;  and,  as  I 
grew  to  understand  him  better,  my  liking 
for  him  increased  proportionately.  But  it 
was  not  until  the  6th  day  of  May,  when 
the  curtain  fell  upon  the  last  stormy 
scene  of  the  tragedy  of  Rantoul,  that  I, 
in  common  with  the  rest,  learned  what 
Rafferty  really  was. 

Rantoul  was  not  a  large  town.  It  was 
a  strange  stage  for  a  tragedy — that  little 
division  station,  clustering  in  a  flat  just 
below  the  junction  of  the  Ohampaign 
and  Obion  Rivers.  Ordinarily,  these  were 
insignificant  streams  enough ;  but,  on  the 


34 


OVEELAND  MONTHLY. 


date  mentioned,  they  were  swollen  by 
heavy  rains,  and  looked  formidable  and 
sullen.  A  rough  levee  held  them  in 
bounds,  and  protected  the  valley,  which 
would  otherwise  have  been  overflowed. 
Back  of  the  town  rose  a  tall,  ragged  slope, 
bristling  with  trees  and  undergrowth — 
the  last  of  the  wavering  chain  of  hills 
through  which  Champaign  made  its  way 
to  its  junction  with  the  Obion  east  of 
Eantoul.  Ways  Bluff,  the  last  station  on 
the  Champaign  division,  was  situated  on 
this  river  at  the  point  where  it  buried 
itself  among  the  hills,  some  ten  miles 
north  of  Eantoul.  The  railroad,  entering 
Eantoul  from  the  northeast,  skirted  the 
Champaign  for  some  distance,  partially 
rounded  the  foot  of  the  slope,  ran  parallel 
with  the  switch-yard  to  its  limit,  fifty 
yards  east  of  the  despatchers'  office,  and 
bent  sharply  away  over  the  Obion  upon 
an  iron  bridge.  Across  the  river  it  curved 
boldly  away  from  the  long  bridge  ap- 
proach down  a  steep  grade  to  a  level  plain 
over  which  swarmed  Eocky  Ford,  the  first 
station  south  of  Eantoul;  and  then  shot 
away  south  toward  Forbes,  the  terminal 
of  the  Eantoul  division. 

The  building  in  which  the  general  of- 
fices were  located,  including  the  despatch- 
ers', was  situated  in  the  southwest  quar- 
ter of  the  town,  within  a  stone's  throw  of 
the  Obion.  Midway  down  the  switchyard, 
stood  the  yard  office — a  tiny  box  car  af- 
fair, but  important,  as  it  marked  the 
junction  of  the  Champaign  and  Eantoul 
divisions. 

The  work  was  heavy,  as  the  operator 
was  required  to  handle  the  telegraphing 
for  both  divisions — a  rough  enough  place 
for  an  experienced  man. 

Consequently  I  was  surprised  when, 
.early  in  March,  I  learned  that  a  lady — a 
Miss  Burke — had  been  ordered  by  Lorton 
to  relieve  Teague,  the  night  operator  at 
the  yard,  who  was  .discharged  for  drunk- 
enness. 

Miss  Burke  was  a  newcomer  on  our  di- 
vision. She  was  young — not  more  than 
nineteen — exceedingly  pretty,  and  we 
were  all  exercised  by  Lorton's  locating 
her  at  such  a  point.  She  was  a  fairly 
good  operator,  but  was  unaccustomed  to 
heavy  work,  and  her  inexperience  be- 
trayed her  into  many  blunders. 

Incompetency  was  an  unpardonable 
sin  in  Eafferty's  eyes,  and  she  had  trouble 


with  him  the  first  night  after  her  in- 
stallment. She  reported  No.  53  ready, 
giving  the  signature  of  the  conductor  to 
several  orders. 

Eafferty  completed  the  orders,  telling 
her  at  the  same  time  to  hold  the  train  for 
another.  She  misunderstood  him,  and 
some  minutes  later,  when  he  called  the 
yard  office  to  put  out  the  order,  53  was 
already  puffing  over  the  Obion.  Eafferty 
was  furious. 

"You've  fixed  it  now — damn  you !"  he 
snapped,  the  instrument  clicking  angrily 
as  he  handled  the  key.  "You've  played — 

"Hold  up,  Eafferty !"  I  cried.  "That's 
a  girl  you're  talking  to." 

All  the  blood  in  Eafferty's  body  seemed 
to  rush  to  his  face.  For  a  moment  he 
glared  at  me  speechless;  then  he  bent 
low  over  his  desk. 

"Its  d — d  dirty  of  Lorton  to  put  a 
girl  down  there !"  he  said,  emphatically. 

But  I  noticed  that  he  used  no  more 
rough  language  in  working  with  the  yard 
office;  and  the  next  day,  to  my  astonish- 
ment, I  learned  that  he  had  called  at  the 
office  on  his  way  home  that  night,  and 
apologized  personally  to  Miss  Burke. 

Then  it  soon  became  apparent  that, 
from  the  moment  he  first  laid  eyes  upon 
Nora  Burke's  pretty  face,  it  was  all  up 
with  Eafferty.  -Though  ihe  remained 
crusty  as  ever  with  other  operators  along 
the  line,  he  was  never  cross  with  her. 
Even  did  his  best  to  shield  her  from  the 
consequences  of  her  manifold  mistakes; 
and  on  one  occasion  when  she  failed  to  de- 
liver a  train  order — thereby  entailing  a 
long  delay  at  a  "blind"  siding  upon  a 
banana  train — he  went  so  far  as  to  de- 
stroy the  record  of  the  order,  thus  tacitly 
taking  the  blame  to  himself;  and  was 
later  severely  censured.  I  alone  was  privy 
to  this  unheard  of  proceeding,  and  when  I 
ventured  to  remonstrate,  I  was  gruffly 
told  to  keep  quiet. 

The  girl  seemed  strangely  indifferent  to 
his  kindness.  She  was  probably  unaware 
of  its  extent.  She  certainly  treated  him 
with  the  utmost  coolness;  and  a  rumor 
soon  crept  through  the  office  that  she 
favored  Jerry  Mathis,  a  stalwart  young 
engineer,  in  no  small  degree. 

Matters  stood  thus  on  the  5th  day  of 
May.  There  had  been  a  steady  down- 
pour of  rain  all  day,  and  a  black  squally 
night  had  set  in.  Third-trick  Despatcher 


THE  STUFF  THAT  WAS  IN  HIM. 


a  5 


McGuire  had  been  taken  ill  suddenly  that 
day;  and,  as  there  was  no  extra  man  to 
relieve  him,  the  chief  despatcher  had  no- 
tified Rafferty  that  his  watch  would  com- 
mence at  seven  o'clock  that  evening,  and 
terminate  at  seven  the  following  morn- 
ing, when  he  would  be  relieved  by  Walker, 
the  day  man. 

Seven  o'clock  was  the  hour  at  which  I 
reported  for  duty,  and  Rafferty  and  I  re- 
paired to  the  office  together.  He  was  in 
a  savage  mood,  and  we  walked  the  whole 
way  in  silence.  All  Eantoul  was  indoors, 
save  those  who,  like  ourselves,  were  com- 
pelled to  exposure. 

For  some  time  a  growing  fear  had  been 
seeping  through  the  town  that  the  levee 
might  break,  and  the  gorged  rivers  flood 
the  town.  Within  a  few  days,  this  fear 
had  merged  into  a  dread  so  positive  that 
it  had  occasioned  the  exodus  of  nearly 
half  the  population;  and  we  passed  sev- 
eral lighted  windows  at  which  anxious 
faces  were  whitened  against  the  panes. 

We  pressed  forward  with  difficulty 
against  the  strong  wind,  and  when  we 
reached  the  office,  paused  a  minute  with- 
in the  outer  door  to  recover  our  breath. 

It  was  not  yet  dark,  but  night  was 
closing  down  in  visibly  deepening  shades, 
and  only  those  objects  near  at  hand  could 
be  distinguished.  The  sky  was  heavily 
overcast,  and  the  lights  flickering  down 
the  gloomy  length  of  the  switch  yard, 
showed  like  pale  red  smears  through  the 
dashing  mist  of  the  rain. 

A  ribbon  of  fierce  lightning  tore  sud- 
denly across  the  sky,  and  disclosed  two 
figures  making  their  way  down  the  main 
track,  the  fitful  gusts  threatening  to 
sweep  them  away  with  every  step. 

I  recognized  Miss  Burke,  and  Mathis, 
the  engineer,  and  I  saw  that  Rafferty  did 
too.  The  next  flash  threw  his  grim  pro- 
file in  strong  relief  against  the  dark  back- 
ground of  the  door. 

"Callahan,  they're  engaged;  I  heard  it 
today."  His  voice  was  a  husky  growl. 

"that  so?" 

I  looked  after  the  pair  with  a  feeling 
of  indignation  which  it  would  have  been 
hard  for  me  to  explain.  There  was  a 
brief  silence.  It  was  broken  by  Rafferty. 

"Look  there!"  he  said,  abruptly,  point- 
ing to  the  Obion,  which  stretched  away  on 
our  right  like  a  pallid  mist,  blending  con- 
fusedly with  the  twilight.  "If  these  rains 


don't  hold  up,  we'll  have  trouble,  kid. 
I  walked  down  by  the  levee  today,  and 
the  water  was  washing  over  it  in  places. 
If  it  should  give  way  now,  this  town 
would  be  wiped  off  the  map." 

"You  don't  think  there's  any  imme- 
diate danger,  do  you?"  I  asked  anxiously. 

"If  this  continues  it'll  have  hard  work 
to  hold  to-night,"  replied  Rafferty. 

He  turned  and  went  up  stairs,  I  fol- 
lowed him,  a  chill  creeping  over  me. 
Hitherto  I  had  scouted  the  possibility  of 
danger,  and  had  met  the  fears  of  others 
with  open  ridicule.  But  I  knew  that  it 
was  almost  impossible  to  excite  Rafferty, 
and  his  opinion  of  the  staying  powers  of 
the  levee  troubled  me  not  a  little. 

It  was  half  past  six  when  we  entered 
the  office,  though  it  seemed  much  later, 
owing  to  the  gloom  without. 

Walker  looked  up  from  his  train-sheet, 
and  greeted  Rafferty  with  a  tired  smile. 

"You'll  find  things  in  a  mess  to-night," 
he  said.  "I  was  just  getting  'em  shaped 
up,  when  Sixty-two's  engine  died  at 
Creelman,  and  I  had  to  undo  every 
blanked  thing  I'd  done,  and  do  it  over." 

"Things  are  always  in  a  mess,"  growled 
Rafferty;  "but  I  don't  mind  work — the 
more,  the  better.  How  are  the  wires?" 

"We  have  had  this  wire  patched  with 
the  No.  16  wire  at  Kosciusko.  Its  all 
right  for  moving  trains,"  replied  Walker. 
"You'll  have  all  kinds  of  work,  if  that's 
what  you're  hunting  for.  They're  going 
to  Forbes  to  bring  out  a  race-horse  train; 
and  there  are  all  kinds  of  trains  out  on 
the  pike — all  of  'em  late  and  getting 
later." 

He  turned  over  to  Rafferty  instructions 
from  the  trainmaster  to  run  one  of  the 
engines — the  huge  890 — in  charge  of  en- 
gineer Mathis  and  conductor  Ryan,  to 
Forbes  as  the  first  section  of  No.  53.  The 
race-horses  were  due  to  reach  Forbes  at 
ten-thirty,  and  they  wished  to  head  them 
north  without  delay. 

Within  a  few  minutes  after  Rafferty  sat 
down  before  his  desk,  he  had  "fixed"  first 
53  at  Rantoul.  At  seven-thirty  the  pow- 
erful 890  glided  majestically  down  the 
main  line^  and  swept  out  over  the  Obion, 
on  her  way  to  Forbes. 

Soon  afterward,  the  operator  at  Rocky 
Ford,  the  first  station  south  of  the  river, 
reported  a  very  rough  place  in  the  track 
at  the  end  of  the  bridge  approach.  Raf- 


36 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


ferty  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  put  out 
a  bulletin  warning  all  trains  to  run  care- 
fully over  the  track  in  question. 

He  battled  against  fearful  odds  that 
night — bad  track,  swinging  wires,  and 
late  trains;  but  he  soon  held  his  stupen- 
dous game  well  in  hand,  and,  at  nine 
o'clock,  he  closed  his  key,  and  leaned  back 
in  his  chair. 

"Got  'em  straightened  out  sooner  than 
I  expected,  kid,"  said  he.  "See  if  you 
can  raise  Champaign.  I  want  some  fig- 
ures on  Number  1.  They  are  sure  to  be 
late." 

No.  1  was  the  south-bound  fast  mail. 
They  were  due  at  ten-twenty,  but  for  two 
weeks  past  had  been  arriving  from  one  to 
five  hours  late,  owing  to  washouts  on  the 
Champai-gn  division.  I  began  calling 
"CH",  the  despatcher's  office  at  Cham- 
paign. 

Rafferty  arose  and  went  to  the  window 
a  large,  black  square,  save  when  illumi- 
nated by  occasional  flashes  from  the  dark- 
ness without.  The  wind  was  swooping 
down  into  the  valley  from  the  southwest, 
and  the  panes  were  slurred  by  long,  slant- 
ing spits  of  rain. 

He  gazed  anxiously  toward  the  Obion. 
A  flare  of  lightning  disclosed  the  railroad 
bridge  and  the  levee,  still  intact.  After 
another  lingering  look,  this  time  in  the 
direction  of  the  yard  office,  he  returned  to 
his  seat. 

"Can't  you  raise  Champaign?"  he  in- 
quired. 

I  shook  my  head.  No.  16,  the  regular 
train  wire  was  spliced  with  No.  8,  which 
was  a  "through'  wire,  at  Kosciusko  Junc- 
tion ;  and  we  were  using  No.  8  wire  north. 
All  other  long-distance  wires  were 
grounded  north  of  Rantoul;  and  No.  8 
was  evidently  in  difficulties  somewhere 
south  of  Champaign;  for,  though  Raf- 
ferty and  myself  continued  calling  Cham- 
paign at  intervals  until  No.  1  was  over- 
due, we  received  no  response. 

At  ten-thirty,  the  race-horse  train, 
with  its  cargo  of  living  freight,  was  de- 
livered to  the  Rantoul  division  at  Forbes, 
and,  almost  immediately,  the  operator  at 
Forbes  reported  them  ready  to  leave. 

"Tell  him  to  sign  up  and  hike,"  di- 
rected Rafferty.  "No.l  not  here  yet,  and 
I  can't  get  any  figures  on  'em — the  darn 
wires  all  down!  I'll — " 

There  was  a  sharp  flash  of  lightning. 


The  giant  switch-board  cracked  like  a 
pistol,  and  the  wire  "went  down." 

Rafferty  went  to  work  on  his  instru- 
ments. The  current  was  heavy,  and  he 
adjusted  with  difficulty.  Some  one  was 
working — the  sounder  was  ticking  indis- 
tinctly, and  under  the  despatcher's  skil- 
ful fingers  the  confused  clicking  gradu- 
ally resolved  itself  into  his  office  call. 

"RN— RN— RN—  CH— "  It  was  the 
despatchers'  office  at  Champaign. 

"I — RN",  responded  Rafferty,  quickly. 

"Unable  to  get  you  sooner  account  wire 
trouble,"  explained  Champaign,  unneces- 
sarily. "No.  1  behind  a  landslide  on  this 
division,  and  will  reach  Rantoul  four 
hours  late— CH." 

"OK— RN",  replied  Rafferty.  He  call- 
ed Forbes  and  issued  an  order  that  No.  1 
would  run  four  hours  late  from  Rantoul 
to  Forbes.  Scarcely  twenty  minutes  later 
Martin,  the  first  station  north  of  Forbes, 
reported  the  race-horse  special  by. 

A  season  of  comparative  quiet  ensued. 
Now  and  then  the  wires  would  fail,  and 
we  had  considerable  difficulty  in  keeping 
our  instruments  adjusted,  because  of  the 
fluctuating  current.  There  had  been  no 
cessation  of  the  wind.  An  uneasy  fear 
possessed  me,  deepening  with  each  tem- 
pestuous gust. 

My  apprehensions  were  not  unshared. 
A  spirit  of  general  disquiet  prevailed 
throughout  the  building.  The  operators 
in  the  adjoining  telegraph  office,  grouped 
themselves  anxiously  near  the  windows 
during  leisure  intervals.  The  clerk  at  the 
trainmaster's  desk  moved  restlessly,  and 
now  and  then  a  pale-faced  employee  from 
the  superintendent's  office  would  come  in, 
exchange  a  few  words  with  the  clerk,  and 
gaze  with  perturbed  face  toward  the  Ob- 
ion.  All  looked  forward  to  the  issue  of 
the  stormy  night  with  evident  uneasiness. 

All  but  Raiferty.  Save  that  he  called 
the  yard  office  once,  and  asked  Miss  Burke 
if  she  was  frightened,  to  which  she  re- 
plied in  the  negative,  he  sat  silent,  ap- 
parently unmoved;  occasionally  taking  up 
his  pen  when  some  station  reported  a 
passing  train,  and  noting  the  time  on  the 
train-sheet  before  him. 

Shortly  after  midnight,  the  operator  at 
Rocky  Ford  reported  water  running  over 
the  dangerous  section  of  the  track  south 
of  the  river.  I  looked  at  Rafferty.  He 
was  frowning. 


THE  STUFF  THAT  WAS  IN  HIM. 


37 


"Isn't  it  rather  risky  to  run  trains  over 
that  track  now?"  I  ventured 

"Its  .criminal,"  he  replied,  emphati- 
cally. "But  if  I  tied  'em  up  on  account 
of  the  track,  Bement — " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  I 
understood.  A  silence  ensued  which  was 
broken  only  at  long  intervals,  until  two 
o'clock,  when  the  little  sounder  on  the 
train-wire  abruptly  raised  its  voice,  and 
addressed  Eafferty. 

"Special  890  wants  to  know  if  you 
can't  give  him  more  time  on  No.  1.  He 
can't  reach  Eantoul  on  what  he's  got — 
KO". 

It  was  Kosciusko  Junction.  Eafferty 
looked  up  at  the  clock.  The  special  had 
pulled  into  Kosciusko  only  a  few  minutes 
behind  their  schedule  time.  Mathis  was 
a  good  engineer,  and  they  were  making  an 
excellent  run,  considering  the  weather, 
and  the  condition  of  the  track. 

"Wait,— I'll  see,"  said  Eafferty.  "CH 
CH— CH— EN— CH— " 

"I — CH,"  answered  Champaign.  "No. 
1  running  five  hours  late — CH". 

"OK— EN""  returned  Eafferty,  "to  K 
0— Copy  3.  Order  No.  180  to  Spl.  890, 
north,  KO. 

"No.  One  (1)  Eng.  1120  will  wait  at 
Eantoul  until  three-thirty  (3:30)  a.  m., 
for  Special  Eace-horse  train,  Eng.  890 
north.  Sig). 

F.  G.  B." 

Kosciusko  Junction  repeated  the  order 
and  Eafferty  made  it  complete. 

"Tell  him  I  want  him  here  by  three- 
twenty-five,  sharp,"  said  Eafferty.  "No. 
1  may  be  right  on  the  figures,  and  I  don't 
want  him  to  fall  down  and  block  the 
game.  Hurry's  the  word !" 

fie  commenced  calling  Eocky  Ford,  but 
before  the  latter  could  answer,  the  opera- 
tor at  Champaign  took  the  wire  ab- 
ruptly, as  follows: 

"  To  EN — Just  got  new  figures  on  No. 
1.  They  will  reach  Eantoul  about  2.45 
— CH."' 

Eafferty  frowned  savagely. 

"That's  only  4  hours  and  25  minutes 
late,"  snapped  he.  "This  is  not  good  biz ! 
I  can't  run  trains  if  you  don't  give  me 
good  figures!" 

<fWe,"  began  Champaign,  but  Eaf- 
ferty seized  the  circuit.  He  called  Kosci- 
usko Junction,  and  ascertained  that  the 
special  had  already  gone.  He  began  call- 


ing Grand  Pass,  the  only  night  office  be- 
tween Kosciusko  and  Eocky  Ford,  using 
"9,"  the  train  order  signal. 

But  the  operator  at  Grand  Pass  was 
not  prompt.  Eafferty  continued  calling 
impatiently  for  ten  minutes  or  more,  be- 
fore he  finally  broke  in  with — 

"I  GS— Spl.  890  by  2:22— GS" 

"FD— FD^EN— 9— FD— FD—  EN" 
called  Eafferty.  "FD— FD— EN— 9— " 

"EN— EN— EN— WB— " 

It  was  Ways  Bluff,  the  first  station 
north  of  Eantoul  on  the  Champaign  di- 
vision. 

"Get  out!"  flashed  Eafferty  furiously. 
«99_FD— FD— " 

But  the  operator  at  Ways  Bluff  broke 
in  again: 

"To  EN— WiB— I'm  holding  No.l  here 
cloudburst  just  below,  and  water  coming 
down  river.  Eun  for  your  liv — " 

That  was  all — the  wire  circuit  remain- 
ed open. 

Eafferty  bounded  to  the  switch  board, 
and  applied  the  ground  wire  north.  It 
closed  the  circuit,  but,  before  he  could 
reach  his  key,  Eocky  Ford  took  the  wire 
with: 

"To  EN — track  washed  away  south  of 
river  to  bridge-approach,  and  one  span  of 
approach  gone.  Section  men  trying  to — " 

Eafferty  flung  open  his  key  and  started 
to  his  feet. 

"Everybody  get  out!"  he  shouted.  "A 
cloudburst  at  Ways  Bluff,  and  water  com- 
ing down  the  Champaign!" 

But  the  operators  in  the  telegraph  of- 
fices had  heard  Ways  Bluff,  and  the  news 
was  already  spreading  like  wild  fire.  The 
wildest  confusion  reigned.  The  clerks 
and  other  employes,  rushed  into  the  hall 
pell-mell.  They  poured  down  stairs  and 
out  of  tihe  building.  The  sound  of 
hoarse  shouts  and  warning  cries  floated 
up  in  distinctly  from  below  . 

I  had  started  up  to  follow  the  others, 
when  I  saw  that  Eafferty  had  reseated 
himself  and  was  calling  Eocky  Ford 
frantically. 

"Go  on,  Callahan !"  he  cried,  seeing  me 
pause.  "I  must  tell  that  fellow  at  Eocky 
Ford  to  hold  the  890 — am  afraid  to  take 
any  chances." 

I  grasped  the  situation  at  once.  The 
track  and  part  of  the  bridge-approach 
south  of  the  river  had  been  swept  away. 
Eantoul  itself  would  soon  be  under  water. 


38 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


The  operator  at  Rocky  Ford  was  inex- 
perienced— Raft'erty  could  not  trust  him 
to  hold  the  race-horse  train  without  in- 
structions. And  unless  she  was  held  at 
Rocky  Ford  she  was  doomed. 

I  sat  down,  a  feeling  of  shame  partly 
banishing  my  terror.  Something  was 
wrong — Rocky  Ford  did  not  answer. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  see  if  you  can't  get 
him  on  some  other  wire!"  exclaimed  Raf- 
ferty,  without  pausing. 

Before  the  words  were  out  of  his 
mouth,  I.  was  in  the  telegraph  office.  But 
it  was  useless.  I  could  get  no  induction 
on  any  wire  except  No.  16,  and  Rafferty 
was  using  that.  I  returned  to  the  des"- 
patchers'  room. 

"FD— FD— RN— 9"  continued  Raf- 
ferty. "FD— FD— RN— 9!  My  God! 
JFD— FD " 

At  last: 

"I— FD,"  replied  Rocky  Ford. 

"Hold " 

A  stream  of  lightning  poured  into  the 
'office.  The  switch-board  was  transformed 
into  a  huge,  twisting  sheet  of  flame.  There 
was  a  terrific  report,  and  long,  crashing 
roll  of  thunder.  It  was  as  if  a  cannon 
had  suddenly  exploded  in  our  midst. 

I  staggered  back,  blinded  and  deafened, 
mechanically  raising  one  arm  to  ward  off 
the  white,  intolerable  glare.  There  was 
little  need.  It  had  vanished,  leaving  to- 
tal darkness.  That  terrible  flash  had  cut 
off  the  electric  light  and  grounded  every 
wire  in  the  office. 

A  moment  later,  while  I  clung  to  my 
chair,  dazed,  a  hundred  vivid  spots  danc- 
iner  against  the  blackness  before  my  eyes, 
a  hand  grasped  my  shoulder. 

"Come,  kid— quick!" 

It  was  the  voice  of  Rafferty.  But  I 
could  only  cling  to  him  stupidly,  as  I  had 
clung  to  the  chair,  and  he  dragged  me 
from  the  room. 

The  storm  had  at  length  reached  its 
climax.  The  darkness  was  intense,  and 
we  could  hear  the  rain  without  striking 
the  building  in  driving,  horizontal  sheets. 

We  paused  in  the  hall,  and  Rafferty 
lighted  a  white  signal  lantern — two  or 
three  were  kept  on  hand  in  case  of  emer- 
gei  ,/.  We  hurried  down  to  the  outer  door 
— the  cold  wind  struck  upon  me  sharply, 
and  my  stupidity  vanished. 

We  made  our  way  with  extreme  diffi- 
culty toward  the  crossing,  east  of  the 


office.  It  was  almost  impossible  to  main- 
tain our  footing  in  the  teeth  of  the  gale, 
and  we  were  half-suffocated  by  the  flood- 
ing rain.  Fortunately,  it  slackened 
abruptly.  A  glimpse  of  lightning  gave 
me  a  fleeting  revelation  of  the  streets, 
filled  with  a  drenched,  frightened  throng. 
At  the  crossing,  Rafferty  broke  from  my 
clasp. 

"Make  for  the  hill,  and  you'll  be  safe !" 
he  shouted. 

He  fled  down  the  tracks,  through  the 
yard.  I  followed. 

"'Where  are  you  going?"  I  cried. 

"Go  back!"  he  answered  savagely.  "I 
am  going  to  the — 

The  remainder  was  carried  away,  but  I 
understood.  He  was  going  to  the  yard- 
office — to  Nora  Burke. 

"For  one  moment  I  hesitated.  Then, 
in  obedience  to  an  impulse  stronger  even 
than  the  love  of  life,  I  set  my  teeth  and 
tore  after  him  blindly. 

The  switch-yard  was  transformed  into 
a  shallow  pond.  All  of  the  tracks  were 
partially  submerged,  and  those  nearest 
the  river  were  totally  obliterated.  The  yard 
skirted  the  Obion,  and  the  lightning ' 
showed  a  thin  sheet  of  water  curling  over 
the  levee,  as  the  waves  were  driven  against 
it  by  the  wind.  All  the  lights  were  ex- 
tinguished except  one,  which  still  glim- 
mered— a  mere  bright  blur — through  the 
rain. 

We  dashed  forward,  clambering  now, 
and  then  over  broken  freight  cars  and 
other  debris  which  blockaded  the  way — 
hurled  down  by  the  storm.  I  ran  my  best, 
but  I  could  not  keep  up  with  Rafferty.  He 
ran  as  I  had  never  seen  a  man  run  before 
— as  I  did  not  know  a  man  could  run. 
We  were  both  hatless  and  coatless,  and 
a  few  large,  scattering  hailstones  dealt 
us  stinging  blows.  Luckily,  the  hail 
passed  in  a  few  seconds. 

There  was  not  a  sign  of  life  anywhere. 
The  yard  men  had  fled.  We  passed  one 
of  the  deserted  yard  engines,  steaming 
faintly.  A  moment  later  the  little  yard 
office  was  revealed  by  the  lightning,  near 
at  hand. 

In  a  second  Rafferty  was  at  the  door. 
He  tried  it,  but  it  was  locked.  He  flung 
himself  against  it  desperately.  With  a 
loud  crackling,  it  gave  way,  and  we  en- 
tered. 
At  first  we  could  see  nothing.  Then 


THE  STUFF  THAT  WAS  IN  HIM. 


39 


Rafferty  raised  the  lantern  and  we  saw 
the  girl — forgotten  by  all  but  himself — 
crouching  by  the  desk,  her  white,  fear- 
stricken  face  turned  toward  the  door. 

As  he  darted  forward,  calling  her  by 
name,  she  sprung  to  meet  him,  with  a 
wild  cry,  and  clung  about  him  sobbing 
convulsively. 

Flinging  down  the  lantern,  he  gathered 
her  up,  and  ran  from  the  office.  I  caught 
up  the  lantern — fortunately  it  was  not 
extinguished — and  followed.  Together  we 
half-led,  half-carried  the  girl  around  some 
refrigerator  cars  piled  like  crushed  egg 
shells  across  the  storage  tracks,  stumbled 
through  a  wide  waste  of  wreckage,  splash- 
ed through  a  ditch  full  of  racing  water, 
and  paused  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  for  a 
moment's  rest. 

"We'll  soon  be  safe  now/'  panted  Raf- 
ferty. 

I  could  hear  his  heavy  breathing.  I  my- 
self was  open  mouthed,  unable  to  reply. 
The  wind  had  died  down,  except  for  an 
occasional  huffle;  but  the  black  clouds 
overhead  were  again  closing  down,  and  it 
lightened  with  merely  momentary  inter- 
missions. Miss  Burke  clung  to  Rafferty, 
and  he  bent  over  her,  trying  vainly  to 
shield  her  from  the  ceaseless  spray  of  rain. 

Suddenly  a  long,  deep,  sad  cry,  faint 
and  far  distant,  but  unmistakable,  was 
borne  to  us  from  the  South. 

Rafferty  straightened  suddenly. 
.    "Good  God!     The  special!"     he     ex- 
claimed. 

His  words  smote  upon  the  senses  of  the 
girl,  dulled  by  fear  and  exposure,  like  an 
electric  shock.  She  started  forward  with 
a  wail  of  agony,  and  then  stood  wringing 
her  hands  in  helpless  despair. 

Wiith  the  swiftness  of  the  lightning  it- 
self, the  awful  peril  of  the  special  race- 
horse train  flashed  back  upon  my  mind. 
They  were  trying  to  reach  Rantoul  by 
three  twenty-five — Mathis  had  the  mighty 
890  on  her  mettle.  If  they  were  not 
stopped  by  the  operator  at  Rocky  Ford — 

I  was  aroused  by  Rafferty.  He  had 
seized  my  arm  and  was  pointing  to  Miss 
Burke. 

"Take  care  of  her,  Callahan!"  His 
tone  was  a  command.  "I  am  going  back." 

'•'Going  back!  What  for?"  I  cried, 
staring  stupidly. 

"That  was  the  890  at  Ford  Crossing- 
she  must  be  held  at  Rocky  Ford !" 


He  caught  the  lantern  from  my  grasp 
and  turned.  I  laid  hold  of  him  in  des- 
peration. 

"My  Lord,  Rafferty— it's  too  late! 
Even  if  you  got  there  in  time  the  wires 
are  burned  out!  You  shan't  do  it — it's 
death !" 

He  shook  me  off  and  turned  toward  the 
draggled,  shuddering  figure  of  the  girl. 
The  incessant  lightning  revealed  his  face. 
It  was  white  and  worn  and  beaten,  but 
the  iron  look  upon  it  was  not  the  look  of 
one  who  fails. 

"I'll  manage  it,"  he  said  grimly. 
Mathias  is  pulling  the  890.  Good-bye, 
kid !" 

He  was  gone. 

I  tried  to  call  out  words  of  further 
remonstrance,  but  something  arose  in  my 
throat  and  choked  me.  The  knowledge 
of  his  purpose  overwhelmed  me.  He  was 
staking  his  life  on  the  mere  change  that 
Rocky  Ford  might  not  hold  the  special. 
He  was  measuring  his  strength  against 
that  of  the  destroyer,  which,  hemmed  by 
the  hills,  was  rushing  down  the  Cham- 
paign. And,  whether  the  unequal  race 
was  won  or  lost,  I  knew  that  death  waited 
surely  for  Despatcher  Rafferty  at  the  end. 

I  strained  my  eyes  after  him  until  the 
spark  of  the  lantern  disappeared.  Pres- 
ently it  flashed  out  again  like  a  star,  only 
to  pass  out  of  sight,  and  I  saw  it  no  more. 

The  sobs  of  the  girl  recalled  me  to  my- 
self, and  I  remembered  that  I  was  ex- 
posing her  to  useless  danger. 

"Come !  We  must  hurry !"  I  cried.  She 
turned  obediently,  and  passing  my  arm 
around  her,  I  hurried  her  up  the  steep 
incline. 

The  ground  was  a  mere  sponge^-the 
yellow  mud  inches  deep.  Our  feet  slid 
in  the  slippery  mire,  and  our  ascent  soon 
degenerated  into  a  desperate  scramble. 
But  we  struggled  on  until  we  reached  a 
small  hollow  more  than  half  way  up  the 
long  slope,  partially  sheltered  by  a  clump 
of  tossing,  beaten  trees. 

We  stopped  here.  Miss  Burke  sank 
upon  the  ground,  panting  from  the  -ardu- 
ous climb,  and  weeping  convulsively. 

As  for  me,  I  forgot  everything  but  the 
queer,  silent  man,  for  whom  until  /^at 
night  I  did  not  dream  that  I  cherished  any 
particular  affection.  I  groaned  aloud, 
and  flung  myself  down  beside  the  girl, 
sobbing  outright  like  the  boy  I  was. 


40 


OVERLAND  MON 


It  seemed  an  age  that  we  two  sat  there, 
sobbing  in  company;  but  not  many  ^min- 
utes covered  the  time  from  the/arfoment 
when  Rafferty  left  us  until  th^<nrial  catas- 


A  deep,  swelling  roar/ike  the  uprising 
of  a}tfstrong  wind,  struCK  upon  my  ears. 
I  wps1  on  my  feet  —  my  heart  leaped  to 
my/  throat  with  one  great,  suffocating 
bound.  I  gazed  down  the  murky  length 
of  the  Champaign,  rendered  plainly  visi- 
ble by  the  ceaseless  glare  from  overhead. 

The  sound  grew  momentarily  louder, 
more  appalling  in  volume.  There  was  a 
confuted,  shrieking  noise,  in,termingled 
like  the  onrush  of  resistless  waters.  Then 
1  distinguished  what  seemed  to  be  a  black, 
wavering  line,  far  down  the  river.  A 
minute  later,  a  wall  of  water,  widening 
as  it  came,  shot  down  the  Champaign, 
and  swept  into  Obion  river,  carrying 
everything  before  it. 

Some  black  blotches  that  were  wreckage 
appeared  upon  the  surface  of  the  swiftly 
ebbing  lake  below.  Well,  Rantoul  was 
deserted,  with  the  exception  of  one  grim, 
white-faced  man,  who  ran  a  race  with 
death  that  night  and  was  victorious  ;  who, 
to  shield  the  life  of  his  rival,  flung  away 
his  own  like  a  handful  of  waste. 


For  that  night,  Despatcher  Rafferty 
achieved  the  impossible.  How  he  effected 
a  wire  circuit,  we  did  not  know — we  shall 
never  know. 

What  we  do  know  is,  that  at  three-four, 
the  operator  at  Rocky  Ford  heard  the 
dumb-sounder  on  the  No.  16  wire  tick 
faintly. 

He  adjusted  hastily.  It  was  Rantoul 
calling  his  office,  and  he  responded  quick- 
ly: "Special  by  you?"  clicked  the 
sounder. 

"Coming,"  replied  Rocky  Ford. 

"Take  this  quick — make  7  copies," 
came  the  swift  command.  "Order  No. 
181  to  Operator  FD,  &  Special  890,  north. 
Order  No.  180  is  annulled.  Hold  all 
north-bound  trains. 

(Sig.)       F.  G.  B. 

The  operator  repeated  the  order  rapidly, 
gave  his  signature  and  waited  for  it  to  be 
made  complete. 

"Complete  3  :08  a.  m.— J.  W." 

The  sounder  stopped  abruptly.  Them 
there  came  a  few  unintelligible  clicks, 
made  by  no  earthly  hand,  and  then — 
silence.  Death  had  written  an  eternal 
"complete"  to  the  life  of  Despatcher  Raf- 
ferty. The  Great  Superintendent  had 
called  him  in. 


BY    SAMUEL    G.    HOFFENSTEIN 

How  many  a  fane  with  Orient  splendor  crown'd 

Its  proud,  marmorean  beauty  rears  on  high ! 
Sweet,  sculptur'd  shell  of  incense  and  sweet  sound, 

And  sensuous  ease,  and  gorgeous  luxury — 
What  carven  pride  and  flaunted  pageantry! 

As't  were  the  magic  triumph  of  a  dream, 
Or  charmed  haunt  of  enfin  revelry 

Ensconced  in  the  midnight  moon's  pale  gleam ! 

Aye,  these  are  glorious  to  the  ravish'd  sight, 

These  lairs  of  vice,  and  their  gold-garnished  brood- 

And  Pomp  can  blind  the  eye  of  Virtue  well; 
But  let  them  revel  in  their  transient  might — 

They  cannot  stay  Death's  ruthless,  rushing  flood, 
Or  cheat  the  quenchless,  fiery  thirst  of  hell. 


In  Dagh. 


BY    FELIX    J.    KOCH 


THINGS  did  look  bad  now  certainly. 
Wihen  we  had  come  into  the  capital, 
with  the  cordon  of  Turkish  soldiery 
sent  out  to  do  honor  to  one  who  bore  let- 
ters from  that  beloved  of  the  Padi-shah, 
the  Turkish  ambassador  to  Washington, 
and  the  infantry  had  lined  up  either  side 
of  the  way  'that  leads  to  the  door  of  the 
Pashalik  walls,  we  felt  we  had  entered 
some  bit  of  Arabian  Nights  country, 
where  genii  might  come  on  touching  some 
talisman,  and  houris  danced  to  castanets, 
and  the  fig  and  the  pomegranate  would 
drop  at  our  feet.  Out  there  in  the  ba- 
zaars the  pomegranates  were  to  be  had, 
and  figs  likewise,  and  the  houris  did  dance 
for  the  populace  in  the  little  theatre  they 
had  established  up  near  the  gilded 
Mosque — but  as  for  talismans,  it  did 
seem  as  though  we  needed  one  badly. 


The  Despot  of  Dagh  was  feeling  his 
oats,  to  quote  an  Americanism. 

One  of  the  most  powerful  vassals  of 
the  Sultan,  practically  absolute  in  his  ex- 
tensive domains,  he  had  conceived  the 
brilliant  idea  that  some  day  Dagh  should 
stand  out  alone  on  the  map,  without  the 
color  being  blended  with  that  of  Tur- 
key. To  do  this,  however,  meant  just  a 
few  more  troops  and  money  than  the  Des- 
pot had. 

So  when  Miss  Stone  was  captured  in 
his  neighbor  prince's  estate  of  Bulgaria, 
and  he  saw  how  easily  Uncle  Sam  paid 
hush-money  and  ransom  and  how  com- 
pletely the  Macedonian  Committee  suc- 
ceeded in  convincing  the  world  that  the 
Sultan  was  not  a  fit  ruler  for  that  region, 
— since  .the  lives  of  foreigners  were  not 
safe,  he  was  resolved  that — let  any  Ameri- 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


can  come  to  Dagh  and  he  would  soon  be 
an  absolute  monarch. 

The  only  flaw  in  the  plan  was  that 
Americans  and  Englishmen  do  not  make 
a  point  of  coniing  to  Dagh.  The  people  are 
yeoman  peasants,  who  raise  wheat  and 
hemp,  and  some  Turkish  maize,  a  few 
sheep,  and  some  of  them  horses. 

These,  after  the  tax-gatherers  have 
taken  a  tenth  for  the  Despot,  and  a  third 
more,  from  the  Christians,  because 
they  cannot  serve  in  the  army,  and  a 
goodly  squeeze  for  themselves,  are  then 
taken  by  said  peasants,  in  the  one  case, 
on  the  sides  of  their  burrows,  in  long  car- 
avans, (as  safeguards  against  the  high- 
way-men,) and,  in  the  other,  in  hugh 
combined  flocks,  to  the  same  end,  and 
driven  to  the  nearest  town. 

There  some  wealthy  pasha  corners  the 
market,  buys  them  up  and,  after  seeing 
to  it  that  the  Despot  gets  liberal  gifts, 
and  that  his  spies  too,  are  quite  well  ap- 
peased, sells  where  and  when  he  will. 

So  you  see,  there  is  no  cause  for  vis- 
itors. 

You  are  altogether  in  too  great  dan- 
ger to  make  tourist  travel  pleasant.  The 
mountains  are  beautiful — but  you 
see  the  same  in  the  Alleghanies.  The  vil- 
lages are  picturesque,  but  if  you  want 


Oriental  pictures,  you  get  them  in  Bos- 
nia in  safety.  And,  as  for  an  American 
commercial  invasion,  goodness  knows, 
fashions  haven't  changed  since  the  battle 
of  Anslem,  and  the  peasant  wouldn't  buy 
if  he  could,  which  he  can't. 

As  to  missionaries,  they,  too,  didn:t 
stir  so  far  into  the  back  country,  and 
it  would  be  only  some  correspondent  who 
ever  dipped  into  Dagh. 

When  he  did  come,  the  orders  had  long 
stood  on  file,  his  coming  should  not  be 
interrupted. 

Then  when  he  was  safely  within  the 
pashalik,  the  soldiers  which  the  neighbor- 
ing Vali,  or  province  governor,  had  sent 
as  his  escort,  should  be  ordered  home  with 
excuse  that  the  Despot  wished  to  do  trte 
honors  himself  and  would  provide  an  es- 
cort of  his  own  on  the  return. 

The  very  earliest  night  thereafter  would 
find  a  letter  thrown  into  the  office  of  the 
American  minister  at  Belgrad,  (this  is 
the  nearest  point  where  we  hold  diplo- 
matic relations),  that  an  American  had 
trespassed  on  some  religious  ground  and 
was  held  prisoner  by  the  Despot  of  TJagh. 

Nothing  would  be  accepted  short  of  ab- 
solute freedom  from  Turkey  and  immun- 
ity from  arrest. 

Didn't  it  sound  easy  and  nice,  though  ? 


En   route. 


Courtiers. 


Dagh,  the  capital  of  Dagh,  lies  in  a 
secluded  valley,  densely  forested  and 
reached  by  a  single  trail.  That  trail  was 
commanded  by  heavy  cannon,  and  could 
hold  huge  armies  at  bay. 

When  the  Sultan  sent  his  forces  to  or- 
der his  vassal  to  obey,  the  vassal  would 
simply  say:  "One  foot  further  and  the 
American  will  be  put  to  death." 

That  would  bring  on  what  he  wished. 

So,  when,  the  next  morning  we  wished 
to  leave  our  bed  chamber,  not  having 
rested  particularly  well  on  the  divan  that 
night,  the  sentry  outside  the  leather  por- 
tiere blocked  our  way. 

"You  cannot  pass,"  he  said  in  Turk- 
ish, "these  are  my  orders." 

Thinking  it  some  local  etiquette,  that 
one  might  not  leave  the  room  until  called 
for,  I  sat  down  at.  the  window  to  fill  out 
my  journal.. 

By  and  by  a  liveried  servant  entered 
with  the  usual  trays  of  Turkish  coffee,  in 
a  beaker,  sugar  and  hot  water  to  dilute. 
This,  and  the  soft,  grey  unleavened  bread 
of  which  one  becomes  so  fond,  and  the 
candied  figs.  That  was  my  breakfast. 


The  sun  was  rising  higher  and  higher, 
it  must  be  ten  by  our  time.  Turkish 
time  is  different,  there  are  twelve  hours 
from  sun-up  to  sun-set,  varying  accord- 
ing to  season. 

I  had  come  to  Dagh  to  go  through  their 
ceremonials,  but  I  did  not  like  this  delay. 
More  than  that,  the  window  looked  down 
into  an  enwalled  court  where  there  was 
only  a  scullion,  lazily  washing  the  dishes 
from  some  previous  banquet,  careless 
whether  the  coating  of  lamb-fat,  in  which 
all  things  are  cooked,  adhered  or  not. 

Then,  by  and  by,  there  were  foot-steps. 

The  sentinel  put  hand  to  mouth,  eyes 
and  brow  and  came  to  salute. 

A  higher  officer  in  navy  blue  uniform, 
contrasting  strangely  with  the  thread- 
bare brown  of  the  private,  entered. 

He  greeted  in  French,  the  official  lan- 
guage of  south  Europe. 

"His  Excellency,  the  Despot,  bids  you 
good  day,  and  desires  to  state  that  he 
wishes  you  personally,  no  harm." 

The  way  the  man  said  it  showed  he 
was  of  good  breeding,  probably  some 
wealthy  aga's  son,  who  had  gone  through 


A    bridge. 


the  mens'  schools  at  Salonica,  and  later 
Constantinople. 

"Certain  circumstances,  however,  have 
arisen,  of  which  I  am  nat  permitted  to 
tell  you,  which  causes  him  to  be  forced 
to  take  you  a  prisoner. 

"So  long  as  you  comply  with  his  will, 
and  your  friends  do  your  bidding,  he  bids 
me  assure  you  you  will  suffer  no  ill.  If, 
however,  that  is  not  done,  you  will  surely 
be  put  to  death — for  to  release  you 
would  then  set  a  precedent,  and,  there- 
after any  attempt  of  the  sort  would  be 
scoffed  at." 

Familiar  with  the  Stone  episode,  I 
knew  too  well  what  he  meant. 

The  only  question  in  my  mind  was, 
what  the  ransom  would  be. 

We  calculated  on  that  chance  when  we 
arranged  with  the  newspapers  sending  us, 
—it  was  simply  a  business  proposition. 
If  we  were  captured,  held,  say  a  week, 
released,  it  might  come  dear,  but  it  would 
put  such  a  premium  on  our  letters,  that 
people  would  buy  papers  who  never  did 
before,  and  later,  when  it  came  to  book 
publication, — wejl,  they  saw  their  way 
clear  to  reap  a  fortune. 

Only,  of  course,  it  wouldn't  do  to  let 
him  know  this.  Furthermore,  we  re- 
called how  Miss  Stone  had  been  dragged 
throiigh  the  very  mountains  which  we  had 


crossed  by  burro,  and  the  prospect  was  not 
overly  delightful  for  us  to  contem- 
plate. 

So  we  put  on  an  air  of  consternation, 
simulated  innocence,  and  asked  what  he 
meant. 

"The  Despot,  my  master,  is  badly  treat- 
ed by  the  Sultan,  he  will  have  his  revenge. 
Were  he  well  treated  he  would  not  need 
to  do  this. 

"You  are  a  college  man?" 

I  nodded  assent. 

"You  took  la  logique?"  (logic). 

Again  I  answered  affirmatively. 

"Then  you  see  the  argument.  Were 
Turkey  well  goverened,  the  local  govern- 
ors would  not  need  to  make  foreigners 
suffer,  to  avenge  their  own  wrongs.  But 
Turkey  is  not  well  governed,  and  so  they 
do  this.  What  happens  to  you  may  hap- 
pen to  any  American  citizen,  any  foreigner 
coming  here. 

"You  see  the  reasoning?" 

"Perfectly." 

He  was  quiet,  sauve,  unimpassioned, 
as  are  all  Turkish  officials,  courteous 
throughout. 

"Now  then  you,  personally,  have  no  in- 
terest in  Turkey  except  as  a  traveler. 
What  matters  it  to  you  if  we  are  a  number 
of  small  states,  instead  of  this  unwieldly 
one?" 


FREED  PROM  THE  DESPOT  OF  DAGH. 


45 


I  had  to  admit  none,  as  he  awaited  my 
answer. 

"Europe,  however,  will  not  help  us  to 
this.  Not  because  she  does  not  see  how 
badly  we  suffer,  but  because  each  state 
of  Europe  is  waiting  to  swallow  us  up. 
And  all  are  so  jealous  of  the  others  and 
so  sure  they  will  each  get  the  whole,  they 
will  do  nothing. 

"Your  country,  however,  would  not 
care.  We  would  get  fair  treatment. 
What  is  more,  we  know  how  powerful 
your  navy  is,  and  could  be  made.  So, 
just  a  threat  from  you  would  do  us  as 
well  as  would  actual  war.  And  threats 
cost  a  government  nothing,  but  the  price 
of  cabling,  which  the  grateful  Despot 
would  certainly  repay." 

I  followed  him  closely. 

I  was  dealing  with  one  of  those  subtle 
Oriental  diplomats,  of  whom  I  had  read 
and  heard. 

"Very  well—" 

He  tendered  me  a  cigarette,  adding  he 
didn't  suppose  that  I  cared  for  a  hook- 
ah. 

"Now  then;  here  you  are,  absolutely  in 
our  clutches.  Escape  is  impossible.  The 
only  way  into  the  capital  is  that  pass  lead- 
ing off  and  in  through  the  canyon,  and 
through  it  an  army  must  come  single  file. 


Those  mountains  are  well  defended,  look, 
and  you  will  see  the  cannon  here  and 
there.'" 

He  pointed  some  out  from  the  window. 

"You  haven't  but  one  life  to  lose.  Why 
lose  it,  to  gain  nothing  ?  Write  your  gov- 
ernment what  we  demand.  That  it  force 
Turkey  to  give  up  Dagh,  since  its  mis- 
government  is  such  that  an  American 
cannot  travel  without  molestation.  This, 
and  to  insure  the  Despot  immunity. 

"Or,  if  you  prefer,  write  it  to  force 
Turkey  to  give  up  Dagh  and  pay  your 
ransom,  which  we  set  at  the  original  one 
of  Miss  Stone — two  hundred  of  your  dol- 
lars, payable  in  gold. 

"Otherwise — "  and  he  drew  his  finger 
across  his  throat,  indicating  the  bow- 
string. 

And  from  his  tone  I  knew  he  meant  it. 

"Supposing,  however,  the  United  States 
government  does  not  do  what  you  ask. 
Am  I  to  die — for  no  fault  of  my  own?" 

The  Moslem  in  him  sprang  to  his  Ko- 
ran. 

"If  Allah  wills  you  to  die,  you  may  die 
this  instant,  though  every  physician  in 
the  world  be  about  you.  If  Allah  wills 
you  to  live,  not  the  Sultan  of  Sultan? 
can  cause  your  death." 

It   was    uncontrovertible,    and    besides. 


The   Despot's  band. 


46 


OVEELAND  MONTHLY. 


arguments  of  theology  are  useless  and 
dangerous. 

I  asked  an  hour  to  think  it  over. 

"There  is  nothing  to  be  thought  over. 
You  write  your  government,  and  tell 
them  what  we  demand.  Add  that  if  they 
refuse,  the  penalty  is  your  death." 

"Come;  here  is  paper  and  ink." 

A  soldier  stood,  noiselessly,  just  out- 
side the  portiere. 

He  entered  and  handed  the  little  ink- 
horn  with  the  purple  inks,  the  salt  cel- 
lar filled  with  sand  to  strew  over,  by  way 
of  blotter,  and  then  filter  back  in  the  cup, 
and  the  thin  Turkish  paper. 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  write — 
and  1  did. 

It  would  take  two  days  by  fleet  courier 
to  carry  that  letter  out  of  Dagh,  up 
through  Eila  and  then  Dupnitza,  where 
Sandansky,  who  had  planned  the  Stone 
capture  lives,  to  Eadomir — which  was  the 
point  of  railway  connection.  Then  it 
would  take  another  day  to  get  to  Sofia, 
and  on  to  the  heart  of  Balkans  railway 
transportation,  and  still  another  to  Bel- 
grade. In  other  words  between  five  and 
six  days  each  way  was  the  fastest  pos- 
sible travel. 

The  answer  would  come  a  bit  faster, 
since  from  Belgrade  they  could  wire  that 
to  Sofia,  thence  to  Dupnitza,  where  the 
telegraph  ended,  and  couriers,  riding  day 
and  night,  could  come  in  two  days  later. 


But  short  of  twelve  days  or  two  weeks, 
there  was  no  hope  of  action. 

Meantime,  like  an  ox  fattened  for  the 
slaughter,  I  lived  on  the  best  of  the  land. 

And  evenings  the  Turkish  official  came 
to  keep  me  company. 

Time  and  again  he  begged  me  to  know 
that  he  was  simply  carrying  out  the  will 
of  his  master,  and  trusted  I  bore  him  no 
hatred.  He  must  be  sure  of  spies  at 
the  walls  himself. 

We  grew  fast  friends,  and  he  told  of 
Turkish  rites  and  customs,  while  I  filled 
him  with  the  wonders  of  America. 

Then  on  the  eighth  day  there  seemed 
pandemonium  let  loose  at  Dagh. 

Contrary  to  all  expectations,  the  Turk- 
ish army — not  the  vassafl  troops  from 
here, — were  pouring  down  the  mountain 
sides,  hundreds  and  hundreds  strong. 

The  Despot's  sentries,  on  the  routes  had 
been  murdered  in  the  night,  the  guns  on 
the  mountain  sides  had  been  suddenly 
spiked,  and  made  useless. 

The  Despot  of  Dagh  feared  for  his  life, 
for  the  Sultan  shows  little  mercy. 

The  passes  were  closed  to  him,  there 
was  no  hope  of  escape. 

Still,  he  would  be  revenged. 

He  suspected  that  some  one  had  played 
spy,  and  sent  the  news  to  his  arch  enemy, 
the  Governor  of  the  next  Turkish  satrapy, 
who  had  sent  it  on  to  the  Grand  Vizier. 

I  must  die ! 


Natives. 


Despot  of  Dagh. 


Breathless  my  friend,  the  officer  rushed 
into  my  room. 

"Come !  Come !  For  your  life,  and 
be  brave.  They  will  kill  you  otherwise.'"' 

We  passed  through  endless  passage- 
ways, that  led  ever  toward  the  earth.  • 

Suddenly  we  began  to  ascend  and 
reached  a  flight  of  winding  stairs. 

"Kun,  fast,  fast  as  you  can,"  he  called. 
,  "Hurry,  hurry !" 

And  we  ran. 

Upward !     Upward !     Upward ! 

At  last  we  were  on  a  narrow  platform 
over-looking  all  Dagh. 

Just  beneath  were  the  city  walls,  with 
the  sentinels. 

They  saw  us  on  these  battlements,  but 
by  the  blue  they  knew  a  superior  officer, 
came  to  rest  and  saluted. 

Then  he  pushed  me  in  a  chair. 

"I  am  your  friend —  he  hurriedly 
whispered.  "If  worst  comes  to  woist,  do 
not  forget  me.  It  was  I  who  summoned 
the  Sultan's  troops,  for  I  do  not  love  the 
Despot.  He  stole  the  throne  from  my 
cousin. 


"You  will  be  in  safety  in  another  mo- 
ment." 

He  put  me  back  in  the  chair,  bade  me 
hold  for  my  life  and  turned  a  lever. 

As  from  a  catapult  I  was  shot  into  air. 

Off,  off,  off, — >by  some  wonderful  spring 
the  chair  was  released.  High  into  air, 
on  parabolic  curve,  never  once  turning 
over,  however.  Then  suddenly,  there  rose 
from  the  back  of  the  chair,  a  bag,  as  of 
some  huge  balloon,  that  inflated  itself 
from  the  suction  of  our  passage.  It  had 
been  calculated  with  nicety,  and  its  power 
to  hold  up  in  air  was  just  a  bit  less  than 
the  pull  of  gravity.  So  the  descent  grew 
easy  and  I  reached  the  earth  with  just 
the  slightest  bounce. 

Of  course  the  soldiers  on  the  ramparts 
saw  us,  and  at  first  they  might  have  shot. 

But  they  had  had  orders,  years  before, 
under  penalty  of  death  to  themselves  and 
their  families,  to  f artherest  extremes, — 
and  this  a  death  by  the  noose,  where  the 
Moslem  believes  the  soul  cannot  escape 
from  the  body,  and  so  must  perish  with 
it, — no  one  was  ever  to  interfere  with 


The  homes. 


what  was  flung  from  that  tower. 

I  landed  far  outside  the  walls  of  Dagh, 
and  in  a  nest  of  badly  scared  Turkish  sol- 
diers. 

I  was  their  prisoner  instantly. 

They  led  me  to  the  colonel  and  I  told 
my  story. 

They  might  have  given  up  the  siege, 
then  and  there, — so  far  as  the  Sultan 
cared. 

But  the  Sultan  had  promised  the  post 
of  the  Despot  of  Dagh  to  whoever 
brought  him  the  head  of  its  present  in- 
cumbent. So  the  siege  went  merrily  on. 


I,  however,  did  not  stay  to  witness  it. 
The  soldiers  were  but  too  eager  to  claim 
the  reward  for  my  release,  to  permit  me  to 
tarry. 

Months  later  I  heard  from  my  friend, 
the  officer  in  Dagh.  Through  the  pres- 
sure brought  to  bear  by  the  American 
embassy  he  had  been  promoted.  He  was 
the  satrap  of  a  province  in  Asia  Minor, 
and  extended  an  invitation  to  visit  his 
court. 

Some  day,  perhaps  I  will  go.  But  I 
shall  take  good  care  of  chairs  that  prove 
catapults,  while  there. 


The  guard. 


BY    F.     G.    MARTIN 


{{TVTEVEK  heard  how  old  Sim  New- 
|\l  comb    just   missed   breaking   in- 
*  ^  to  the  Hall  of  Fame,  did  you  ?" 
The  speaker  was  Captain  Winslow,  for 
forty  years  master  of  a  steamboat  on  the 
Tennessee  Eiver. 

Despite  his  seventy  years  and  frosted 
hair  the  Captain  was  no  abandoned  hulk. 
The  fire  of  youth  was  still  in  his  eye  and 
the  snap  of  virility  in  his  genial  voice. 
He  knew.,  like  a  schoolboy  his  geography, 
every  bend  and  depth  and  shallow  of  his 
river,  from  Chattanooga  to  Ohio.  Be- 
sides he  was  a  capital  story-teller.  The 
Captain  re-filled  his  pipe  as  he  put  the 
question,  a  premonitory  symptom  of  a 
good  story  coming. 

"No,  I  never  heard  about  it,"  I  re- 
plied. "Let's  have  the  story." 

Captain  Winslow  sat  back  at  his  ease 
and  the  narrative  flowed  as  smoothly  as 
the  current  of  a  meadow  brook. 

"It  was  back  in  '63,  just  when  the  civil 
war  was  hottest  in  these  parts.  I  reckon 
those  were  not  halcyon  days  for  the  peo- 
ple in  the  little  burg  of  Chattanooga. 
Eebs  and  Yanks  were  playing  battledore 
and  shuttlecock  with  the  town.  There's 
many  an  old  house  standing  there  yet  ven- 
tilated by  cannon  balls  in  those  days. 
Well,  I  was  in  my  prime  then  and  was 
captain  of  the  Hiwassee,  making  two  trips 
a  week  between  Chattanooga  and  Bridge- 
port, Alabama. 

"But  to  get  down  to  Sim  Newcomb. 
Sim  was  a  young  man  then,  a  strapping, 
well-built,  athletic  piece  of  flesh.  No- 
body about  Chattanooga  ever  knew  his 
pedigree.  Mrs.  Grundy  had  it  that  he 
was  a  professor  in  some  college  down  in 
Georgia  and,  becoming  crossed  in  love, 
he  soured  on  life  and  decided  to  turn 
his  back  on  the  world  and  go  it  alone 
in  the  woods  and  mountains. 

So  he  came  up  to  Sand  Mountain, 
built  himself  a  rude  hut  and  made  com- 
panions of  the  birds  and  squirrels. 

"Well,  along  in  the  fall  of  '63  things 
were  getting  pretty  lively  at  Chattanooga. 


A  band  of  'Fighting  Joe'  Hooker's  men, 
sweeping  up  the  Wauhatchie  Valley  one 
afternoon,  passed  close  to  Sim  Newcomb's 
retreat.  Sim  got  scared  up.  He  feared 
Hooker's  men  would  take  him  for  a  sharp- 
shooter or  guerilla.  Without  bag  or 
baggage,  he  put  out  as  fast  as  his  legs 
would  carry  him.  Rushing  down  the 
Tennessee  river,  out  of  breath,  quicker 
than  you  could  say  Jack  Eobinson  he 
jumped  into  a  small  skiff  which  lay  under 
some  willows.  Without  stopping  to  con- 
sider that  he  knew  nothing  about  rowing, 
he  shot  out  into  the  river. 

"Now,  the  Tennessee  is  wild  and 
ungovernable  at  that  place  as  one  of  these 
untamed  East  Tennessee  mountain  gals. 
The  water  falls  seventeen  feet  to  the  mile 
and  is  so  swift  it  makes  the  hair  of  every 
river  man  who  plies  this  stream,  stand 
on  end. 

"A  mile  below  where  Sim  Newcomb 
started  across,  the  river  breaks  through 
the  mountains.  The  water  has  cut  a  way 
through  solid  rock,  and  the  south  side 
shoots  down  like  a  mill-race  and,  strik- 
ing the  wall  of  rock,  veers  off  in  a  sharp 
bend.  It  is  worth  a  man's  life  to  go  in 
there  in  a  light  boat. 

"Before  he  had  calmed  down  from  his 
scare  Sim  had  drifted  into  this  swift 
descent.  He  got  his  bearings  too  late  to 
save  himself.  He  was  whirled  along  like 
a  straw  on  a  flood,  helpless  even  to 
steer  the  skiff  away  from  jagged  rocks. 
Ninety-nine  chances  in  a  hundred  he 
would  hit  the  mountain  side  and  go  to 
Davy  Jones'  locker  in  a  jiffy. 

"Sure  enough,  the  skiff,  like  a  scared 
bird,  fairly  flew  into  the  mountain  side 
where  the  water  turns.  Sim  was  knocked 
unconscious  and  fell  sprawling  into  the 
bottom  of  the  skiff. 

"How  long  it  was  before  he  came  to 
his  senses  Sim  never  could  figure  out. 
He's  told  me  about  it  many  a  time.  When 
reason  came  back  to  him  it  was  gloomy 
and  dark  about  him,  and  the  air  was 
damp  and  stifling.  He  tried  to  remem- 


50 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


her  where  he  was  and  how  he  got  there. 
I  reckon  he  felt  something  like  Eip  Van 
Winkle  when  he  woke  from  his  twenty 
years'  sleep. 

"Sim  sat  up  and  peered  about. 
Through  the  midnight  blackness  shot  a 
little  gleam  of  light.  It  seemed  to  him 
a  long  way  off.  Groping  about  he  found 
he  was  on  solid  earth  on  the  edge  of  a 
pool  or  lake  of  water.  He  then  recalled 
his  perilous  experience  in  the  skiff.  At 
the  thought  of  his  situation  he  shook  with 
fright,  like  a  darkey  with  the  ague.  He 
was  in  a  great  cave.  The  country  about 
Chattanooga  is  honey-combed  with  them. 
But  how  he  got  in  the  cavern  is  what  puz- 
zled Sim. 

"Feeling  his  way  along,  he  went  toward 
the  little  stream  of  light.  He  found  that 
it  trickled  through  a  narrow  aperture  in 
the  rocky  wall.  And  there  lay  the  skiff 
on  the  subterranean  lake. 

A  little  exploring  cleared  up  the  whole 
situation  to  Sim.  After  the  skiff  struck 
the  rocky  river  bank  and  he  had  conscious- 
ness beat  out  of  him,  the  skiff  evidently 
had  drifted  swiftly  on,  hugging  the  moun- 
tain wall  until  coming  to  this  opening. 
The  water  poured  into  this  hole  in  a  small 
stream,  and  the  skiff  was  catapulted  by  the 
swift  river  current  right  into  this  cave, 
and,  lighting  on  the  lake  in  the  cave,  it 
sped  across  to  the  opposite  side  and 
dumped  the  unconscious  Sim  on  the  bank. 
Here  is  where  he  found  himself  when  rea- 
son returned. 

"Well,  Sim  thanked  the  Lord  for  sav- 
ing his  life,  and  started  to  find  his  way 
out.  Robinson  Crusoe  had  his  troubles, 
but  Sim  soon  found  he  could  give  point- 
ers to  that  worthy  adventurer. 

"That  cave  simply  had  no  beginning 
and  no  end.  It  proved  to  be  a  circular 
basin  with  no  outlet  except  the  small  open- 
ing through  which  Sim  had  so  unceremo- 
niously entered. 

"This  underground  Crusoe  explored  the 
cavern,  groping  through  the  slime,  keep- 
ing close  to  the  wall  and  picking  every  step 
of  the  way.  He  could  see  nothing,  and 
the  solitude  was  maddening. 

"After  walking,  he  judged,  two  miles, 
Sim  came  back  again  to  the  aperture.  This 
narrow  hole,  then,  was  his  only  hope  of 
escape.  That  hope  hung  by  a  hair,  for 
the  opening  was  ten  feet  above  the  floor 
of  the  cave,  and  the  rushing  current  out- 


side made  him  a  helpless  prisoner. 

"But  Sim  was  game.  He  would  give 
Death  a  merry  race.  The  big  lake  was 
swarming  with  fish,  and  the  dank  walls 
and  bottom  of  the  cave  were  covered  with 
some  kind  of  edible  fungus.  On  raw  fish 
and  this  fungus,  Sim  kept  soul  and  body 
together,  but  it  was  no  Delmonico  fare, 
you  will  agree. 

"Sim  was  of  an  inventive  turn,  and 
how  to  get  into  communication  with  the 
outside  world  now  tested  his  talent  in  that 
line.  The  only  hope,  he  decided,  would 
be  some  means  of  hailing  a  passing  steam- 
boat. There  was  not  one  chance  in  ten 
thousand  for  him  to  do  that.  To  succeed 
would  spell  rescue.  To  fail  meant  death 
in  its  most  doleful  form,  far  beyond 
knowledge  of  any  human  being.  Sim  had 
elected  to  be  a  hermit,  but  he  was  not  quite 
ready  to  shuffle  off  this  mortal  coil. 

"How  long  he  could  live  in  this  damp 
and  vitiated  air  on  raw  food  was  another 
problem.  Sim  knew  a  deal  about  science, 
and  the  discoveries  relating  to  the  proper- 
ties of  minerals.  He  began  to  experiment 
in  the  hope  of  finding  some  substance  that 
would  strike  a  light  and  throw  his  distress 
signal  to  the  outer  world. 

"While  striking  stones  together  this 
way,  suddenly  there  came  a  flash  and  a 
brilliant  glare  of  light  shot  past  him. 
Startled,  Sim  turned  his  face  to  the  wall, 
and  there,  against  the  slime,  stood  a  liv- 
ing image  of  himself,  as  if  the  very  air 
had  been  fused  by  volcanic  heat.  Every 
feature  was  perfect,  and  it  stood  out  in 
such  relief,  it  looked  so  like  a  live  man, 
it  struck  terror  to  Sim,  and,  turning,  he 
fled  from  it,  quivering  like  an  aspen  leaf. 
Not  until  he  was  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  lake  did  he  dare  look  back.  There  stood 
that  model  of  Sim  silhouetted  apparently 
in  living  flame  against  the  cavernous  wall. 

"Sim  was  sick  with  fright.  He  became 
as  nauseous  as  a  land-lubber  at  sea,  his 
knees  smote  together  and  he  sank  to  the 
ground.  That  figure  fascinated  him.  He 
began  to  doubt  his  senses.  Wjas  his  mind 
off  tack,  he  wondered?  Or  was  he  killed 
in  the  skiff  accident  on  the  river,  and  was 
this  an  ante-chamber  of  Inferno,  and  was 
his  Satanic  Majesty  ushering  him  into  tor- 
ment by  easy  stages  ? 

"Gradually  the  figure  faded  away,  and 
with  it  Sim's  fright.  Then  his  thoughts 
turned  to  the  cause  of  this  hair-raising 


FAME    TUEXED    FLIRT. 


apparition.  Plainly  it  was  in  the  pulpy 
substance  which  he  still  held  in  his  hand 
— for  he  had  struck  a  flinty  rock  against 
this  substance. 

"Was  it  possible,  he  mused,  that  he  had 
discovered  some  new  mineral  or  element 
with  strange,  almost  supernatural  proper- 

-.  A-hich  would  not  only  be  the  means 
of  his  rescue,  but  make  him  famous  as  its 
discoverer  as  well  ? 

••Again  and  again  Sim  struck  that  pre- 
cious substance,  and  each  time  flashed 
forth  a  counterfeit  of  himself  so  strikingly 
life-like  that  he  recoiled  lest  the  phantom 
figure  move  toward  him  and  speak. 

"Sim  now  worked  out  a  plan  to  escape 
from  this  living  tomb.  Ths  plan  hung  on 
scanty  support,  you  must  admit.  But, 
treasuring  that  bit  in  his  hand  like  a 
precious  gem,  he  stationed  himself  at  a 
point  near  the  opening  into  the  cave  and 
began  throwing  these  spooky  pictures  of 
himself  into  the  outer  air. 

"His  eye  could  command  a  small  stretch 
out  over  the  river,  and  he  kept  it  riveted 
on  that  stretch,  day  after  day,  hoping 
against  hope  that  a  boat  would  pass  with- 
in the  range  of  his  vision,  and  by  flashing 
out  a  living  likeness  of  himself  to  the  boat 
he  could  pave  the  way  for  his  discovery 
and  rescue. 

"Late  one  afternoon,  several  months  af- 
ter Sim  Xewcomb  had  disappeared  from 
his  mountain  hut,  I  was  coming  up 
through  the  mountains  with  the  Hiwassee. 
The  water  was  low,  and  the  pilot  kept  in 
closer  than  usual  to  the  south  wall.  I  was 
on  the  hurricane  deck,  looking  at  some 
ferns  growing  on  the  steep,  rocky  bank. 
Quick  as  a  wink,  out  of  the  solid  rock  a 
long,  luminous  stream  of  light,  like  a 
comet's  tail,  gleamed. 

"I  looked  down  to  the  water's  edge,  and 
there  for  the  first  time  noticed  a  narrow 
opening  into  the  rock.  I  thought  strange 
of  the  mysterious  light,  but  as  we  were 
nearing  our  landing  place,  it  passed  from 
my  mind. 

"AVe  were  at  the  Market-street  wharf, 
Chattanooga,  and  the  darkies  were  carry- 
ing barrels  and  boxes  across  the  gang 
plank,  when  all  at  once  I  was  startled  by  a 
negro  deck-hand  rushing  into  the  cabin, 
his  whole  body  a-tremble — the  worst- 
scared  darkey  I  ever  saw. 

"  'For  heaven's  sake,  what  is  the  mat- 
ter. Jim?'  I  asked. 


"  'Cap'n,'  came  from  between  his  chat- 
tering teeth,  'dere's  han'ts  on  dis  boat  I 
wants  my  pay.  I  done  tired  of  dis  work 
anyway.' 

"  'Xow,  what  bad  whisky  have  you  been 
guzzling?'  I  exclaimed  in  impatience. 

"  'Cap'n,  I  done  tole  you  dere's  hair  ts 
on  dis  boat.  Jes'  you  come  and  see.' 

"1  followed  the  negro  to  the  gang- 
plank and  he  pointed  to  the  side  of  the 
boat.  Just  above  the  water  line,  in  the 
gathering  darkness,  was  the  perfect  outline 
of  a  man,  looking  as  if  it  had  been  burned 
right  into  the  wood,  and  as  if  the  fire  was 
still  burning.  Every  feature  was  there  as 
plain  as  day.  The  hair  was  disheveled, 
the  cheeks  sunken,  the  eyes  wild  and  ap- 
pealing, and  the  whole  ghostly  figure  had 
the  appearance  of  a  living  man  in  the 
most  abject  distress.  It  looked  weird  and 
uncanny,  and  yet  so  life-like  that  I  invol- 
untarily expected  the  'han't'  to  walk  across 
the  water  and  ooen  conversation  with  me. 
1  tell  you  I  was  as  scared  as  any  darkey 
about  me — they  had  all  run  like  stampeded 
cattle  from  the  boat. 

"I  reckon  old  Belshazzer  and  his  lords 
were  not  more  worked  up  over  that  spectre 
handwriting  on  the  wall  than  was  I,  and 
mv  darkies,  at  that  ghostly  picture. 

"  '1  reckon  dis  is  no  place  for  me !' 
yelled  one  of  the  negroes,  and  away  went 
the  whole  pack  of  them,  pell-mell  up  the 
bank. 

"I,  too.  shuffled  up  to  the  office  on  dou- 
ble-quick. There  was  nobody  there.  I 
went  on  home.  Try  as  I  would,  I  could 
not  shake  off  that  phantom  picture.  Its 
clammy  hands,  beckoning  in  pitiful  ap- 
peal, haunted  me  all  night.  The  next 
morning  I  was  nervous  and  could  not  eat. 
I  hurried  to  the  office.  I  found  Mr.  An- 
drew?, the  manager,  in  a  great  rage. 

"  'Winslow.  why  in  thunder  ain't  you 
unloading  that  boat?' 

"I  had  to  invent  an  excuse. 

"  'Came  in  too  late  last  night,  and  I 
overslept  this  morning.  I  reckon  the  dar- 
kies are  at  work  down  there  now." 

"  '"Well,  I  reckon  they  ain't,'  grumbled 
Mr.  Andrews,  'and  that's  what  makes  me 
sore.  There's  not  a  living  darkey  down 
there.' 

"I  pretended  surprise  and  anger  and 
started  out  to  find  my  crew.  Xot  a 
mother's  son  could  I  find.  Coming  across 
some  negroes  on  the  street,  I  tried  to  hire 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


them  to  unload  the  boat,  but  they  would 
not  go  for  love  or  money.  I  found  my  dar- 
kies had  filled  the  town  with  the  story  of 
the  'han't/ 

"The  situation  was  very  vexatious  to 
Mr.  Andrews.  Merchants  were  clamoring 
for  their  goods,  but  nobody  could  be  found 
to  unload  the  boat. 

"I  told  Mr.  Andrews  the  ghost  story, 
and  made  light  of  it,  not  owning  up  that  I 
had  seen  it,  and  was  as  badly  scared  as  the 
negroes.  Then  I  told  him  about  the  flash 
I  had  seen  coming  from  the  rocky  shore  in 
the  mountains. 

"  'There's  the  place  to  solve  the  mystery 
— if  there  is  a  mystery,'  I  ventured  to  sug- 
gest. 

"Mr.  Andrews  scoffed  and  fumed,  but 
as  we  could  not  hope  to  get  a  negro  to 
work  on  that  boat  again  until  it  was  given 
a  clean  bill  that  there  were  no  Tian'ts' 
aboard,  he  finally  consented  to  take  a 
party  to  the  spot  where  I  had  seen  the 
mysterious  flashing  and  investigate. 

"I  went  to  pilot  the  party.  In  a  small 
tug  we  picked  our  way  close  up  to  the 
opening.  As  we  passed  alongside  it,  out 
came  another  flash,  just  as  I  had  seen  it 
from  the  Hiwassee,  and  there,  on  the 
side  of  the  tug  was  another  picture  of  the 
same  distressed,  appealing  figure,  but 
dim  in  the  daylight.  The  party  all  saw  it 
and  even  skeptical  Mr.  Andrews  bit  hia 
lip  in  perplexity. 

"  'I  reckon  we'll  have  to  hunt  down  this 
spook  and  put  out  his  searchlight,  if  we 
ever  get  a  darkey  to  nass  here  again,'  he 
said.  'Let's  trv  to  get  in  there.' 

"Easier  said  than  done.  Material  had 
to  be  brought,  piles  driven  and  the  water 
diverted,  then  with  dynamite  we  blasted 
out  a  larger  opening  and  entered  the 
cave. 

"The  sight  that  met  our  eyes  gives  me 
the  creeps  to  this  day.  There  stood  a  fig- 


ure— human,  apparition  or  goblin  we 
could  not  make  out — emaciated,  with  its 
profile  to  us,  and  mechanically  striking 
its  hands  together,  at  each  stroke  throw- 
ing out  that  luminous  trail  of  light  which 
made  such  unearthly  snap-shots. 

"We  shouted  to  him — or  it.  Turning, 
the  figure  faced  us,  glanced  at  the  open- 
ing we  had  enlarged,  and — fell  in  a 
swoon. 

"That  settled  it;  this  was  a  man.  Nei- 
ther ghosts  nor  goblins  faint. 

"We  gathered  up  this  creature,  his  face 
pallid  and  pasty,  his  hair  damp  and  mat- 
ted and  white  as  a  snowball,  and  his  body 
so  thin  and  gaunt  he  seemed  a  model  for 
a  statue  of  Hunger.  His  left  hand 
clutched  a  small  particle  of  earth  or  stone, 
which,  I  noted,  fell  to  the  ground  as  we 

carried  him  to  daylight  and  the  tug. 
*  *  *  * 

"I  met  Sim  Newcomb,  bent  and  feeble 
with  age,  in  the  streets  of  Chattanooga  a 
few  days  ago. 

"  'Winslow,'  he  said,  'do  you  know  the 
keenest  disappointment  of  my  life  has 
been  the  fact  that  I  lost  that  little  parti- 
cle I  had  clutched  in  my  left  hand  when 
you  found  me  in  that  cave.  I  would  have 
ranked  with  Edison  and  Mkrconi  to-day 
if  I  had  not  fainted  then  from  weakness 
and  excitement. 

"Do  you  know  what  it  was  that  threw 
out  that  life-line  for  me — that  saved  my 
life  by  throwing  those  ghostly  pictures? 
I  am  sure  it  was  radium,  in  more  perfect 
form  than  yet  discovered.  I  know  that  I 
just  missed  fame  and  fortune  by  fainting 
at  the  wrong  time.  Fame  turned  flirt,  led 
me  to  the  point  of  embracing — then  jilted 
me.' 

"This,"  said  Captain  Winslow,  knock- 
ing the  ashes  from  his  pipe,  "is  how  old 
Sim  Newcomb  came  within  an  ace  of 
breaking  into  the  Hall  of  Fame/' 


BY    F.    L.    HARDING 


FOR  any  other  purpose  than  fishing, 
it  was  disgustingly  early  to  be  out 
and  afield.  As  red  dawn  began  to 
tint  the  grey  horizon,  I  was  telling  my 
grievance  to  a  sordidly  sympathetic  boat- 
man. How  two  years  before  my  line  had 
been  wet  daily  for  four  unbroken  months 
in  pursuit  of  a  rare  species  of  fish  known 
to  Southern  California  only — and  was 
granted  never  a  nibble.  How,  too,  I  had 
planned,  explored,  experimented,  prayed 
and  finally  cursed  my  luck  when  depart- 
ing in  defeat. 

The  elusive  quarry  was  a  sort  of  weak- 
fish,  much  like  we  Eastern  chaps  round 
up  in  Jersey  waters.  But  this  odd  fellow 
had  forgotten  to  stop  growing  when  he 
properly  should  have,  according  to  Jersey 
standards.  He  often  scaled  a  half-hun- 
dred-weight— all  grit,  muscle  and  devilish 
temper. 

I  wanted  one  as  a  child  wants  the  moon 
— and  my  chances  of  success  seemed  about 
equally  promising. 

The  fish  were  erratic,  capricious,  with 
a  chronic  reserve  of  manner  that  froze 
the  warmest  overtures  of  well-disposed  an- 
glers. They  spurned  a  juicy  bait  on  prin- 
ciple, except  at  dawn  or  early  twilight, 
when  a  wayward  member  of  the  tribe 
would  at  times  fall  from  grace.  'Twas  a 
halcyon  day  when  the  good  rod  felt  the 
steel  on  their  onslaught  and  the  tussle 
was  invariably  heroic. 

My  launch  captain  had  somehow  drifted 
West  with  the  proverbial  "course  of  em- 
pire," from  Yorkshire,  bringing  his  un- 
der-done speech  with  him.  On  hearing 
ray  tribulations,  he  shook  his  grizled  head 
resignedly,  impaling  a  fresh,  still-living 
sardine  upon  mv  hook.  He  glanced 
around  at  the  Catalina  hills  as  though 
seeking  consolation  within  their  tawny 
heights.  He  threw  the  bait  over  and  fast- 
ened his  keen  eyes  upon  me.  They  were 
the  kind  of  eyes  that  go  right  through  you 
and  button  up  the  back. 

"Aye,  lad,  thee  has  fared  ill,  thee  has. 
This  bein'  early  April,  like  as  not  a  bonny 


stretch  o'  weather  will  bring  'em  around. 
Thee'll  be  fair  amongst  'em  an'  I  canna 
bethink  as  thee'll  miss  the  bleedin'  beg- 
gars again." 

I  exhorted  him  to  do  his  utmost.  "Make 
good,  Jerry,  old  man:  cut  out  the  pre- 
liminaries— get  busy." 

"Aye,  lad,  that's  so.  Mayhap  a  few 
stragglers  is  in  already.  Yon  sends  a 
sprinklin'  of  scouts  afore  the  crowd 
shoves  aroun'  the  island."  That  sounded 
good  to  me,  and  that  shadowy  attribute 
that  "springs  eternal  in  the  human  breast" 
began  to  look  up  a  little. 

The  spring  at  Catalina  is  the  "spring- 
iest" weather  one  ever  lived  in — it  makes 
the  sober  citizen  feel  like  standing  on  tip- 
toes, shouting.  The  air  felt  like  wine  to 
the  lungs,  the  water,  sky,  mountains,  were 
fresh  and  clean  as  though  the  creation  of 
the  world  had  just  been  finished.  In  the 
exquisite  half-moon  bay  we  were  alone, 
the  other  anglers  were  bustling  about  the 
beach  in  the  grey  haze  of  daybreak,  pre- 
paring for  the  day's  sport. 

Leaning  over  the  boat-side,  I  could, 
from  my  seat  in  the  stern,  see  a  lively 
army  of  sardines  darting  and  shooting 
about  in  pale  green  water,  transparent  as 
plate-glass  to  a  depth  of  thirty  feet.  Now 
a  seal  or  a  diving  shag  would  suddenly 
cut  a  wide  path  through  the  panic-stricken 
ranks.  At  once,  they  re-assembled,  to 
continue  their  frantic,  futile  game. 

While  thus  idling,  my  reel  gave  tongue. 
Instant  as  this  had  been,  a  premonitary 
tremor  of  the  sensitive  rod  had  antici- 
pated it.  Bracing  myself  involuntarily,  I 
struck  back  while  recovering  my  position, 
and  then  braked  down  upon  the  whirling 
core  of  line  in  the  reel  with  the  leather 
thumb-pad.  The  Cuttyhunk  streamed  ir- 
resistibly out  upon  the  arched  rod,  a  gray 
live-wire  whipping  viciously  through  the 
guides.  It  dipped  down  like  an  arrow — 
yards  and  yards  of  it — into  that  innocent 
face  of  the  bay  beneath  which  a  mighty 
animal  had  been  electrified  to  desperation 
by  a  stinging  fire  in  its  cheek. 


54 


OVEELANP  MONTHLY. 


The  battle  was  on !  Expecting  the  cus- 
tomary tactics  of  a  Yellowtail,  I  settled 
back  for  a  royal  tugging  match,  a  long 
contest  of  give  and  take,  with  little  fancy 
work  or  trimmings. 

But  this  clever  fish — for  his  wit  showed 
early  to  extraordinary — veered  off  at  an 
acute  angle  and  struck  out  across  the  sur- 
face under  forced  draught..  With  an 
abandon  bordering  upon  hysteria,  he 
raved  all  over  the  place,  plunging  like  a 
rocket.  For  three  hundred  feet  he  gal- 
loped away,  towing  our  heavy  launch  at 
a  perceptible  pace. 

The   strain  was   cruel,  but  the   tackle 


out  for  him.  the  doublings  were  wonder- 
fully sudden,  and  the  old  fellow  was  soon 
puffing  and  profane. 

I  sat  facing  the  stern,  the  rod  butt 
thrust  into  a  leather  cup  between  my  legs. 
When  the  first  dazzling  spurt  had  been 
somewhat  controlled,  the  old  trick  of 
pumping  the  fish  was  tried.  Eeeling  in  a 
few  turns  until  the  rod  tip  neared  the 
water  the  fingers  of  the  right  hand  left 
the  reel-handle  and  grasped  the  rod  below 
the  reel-seat  with  the  thumb  tight  upon 
the  leather  brake-pad.  Throughout  the 
whole  maneuvre,  the  left  hand  remained 
at  its  position  about  six  inches  above  the 


The  launches  are  well  adapted  for  the  sport   in   every   detail   of   construction. 


did  better  than  it  knew  how!  Galled  to 
a  frenzy  by  this  new  check  upon  his  free- 
dom, the  marine  free-lance  grew  deliri- 
ous with  pain  and  fright. 

The  angler  must  now  act  like  a  flash, 
guessing  at  every  move,  anticipating  each 
violent  burst  of  flight.  So  speedy  were 
the  dashes  at  times  that  he  won  a  space 
of  slack  line,  it  must  be  confessed.  But 
the  hook  was  in  the  gristly  jaw,  and  his 
advantage  proved  fruitless. 

Old  Jerry  got  out  his  oars,  endeavoring 
to  keep  our  launch  stern  on  to  the  con- 
testant in  the  water.  His  work  was  cut 


reel.  It  raised  the  rod  until  the  tip  point- 
ed skyward,  the  motion  being  as  even  as 
the  fish  would  allow. 

This  has  quietly  dragged  the  puzzled 
quarry  some  four  feet  nearer  the  boat 
without  greatly  exciting  him.  Still  at 
hazard,  vibrating  in  air  between  agate-tip 
and  water,  was  this  precious  span  of  line. 
Now  to  stow  it  safely  away  upon  the  reel 
bobbin.  Gradually  lowering  the  rod  with 
left  hand,  the  right  took  in  the  line  inch 
by  inch  on  the  descent,  and  I  was  again 
ready  to  "work  the  pump  handle." 

Patient  repetition  of  this    is  a    death 


FIGHTING    A   FORTY-POUND    WEAK-FISH. 


Forty-one  poun'd  Catalina  weakflsh  caught  on 
rod   and   reel. 


warrant  to  any  fish, — if  the  rig  holds  out. 
This  analysis  of  a  few  simple  movements 
looks  like  child's  play  but  the  practice  is 
terrifically  complicated  by  the  pitching  of 
the  boat,  the  snapping  nerves  of  the  fish- 
erman,— the  bewildered  terror  of  the 
fish. 

Gad,  what  a  fight  that  old  fellow  put 
up !  He  was  in  a  sprinting  mood  and  a 
pack  of  fox-hounds  would  have  found  a 
maze  in  his  trail.  Circling  entirely 


around  the  boat,  he  forced  me  to  scram- 
ble to  the  bow,  pass  my  sorely  straining 
rod  about  the  mast  and  battle  with  his 
fury  on  the  other  side.  Our  launch  was 
now  at  sea;  he  was  seeking  deeper  water. 

"Thee'll  snub  'im  now,  lad,"  councilled 
Jerry,  the  acute,  "Thee's  had  a  quarter 
hour,  'tis  time  enow.  Have  done,  'es 
failin'  fast."  His  failing  symptoms  were 
not  apparent  to  me  as  yet.  In  fact,  the 
puffing  at  my  end  augured  well  for  his 
escape.  But  Jerry  was  wise  in  his  day 
and  generation. 

The  next  run  melted  away  to  a  dead 
halt  under  steady  pressure.  Now  to  force 
the  fighting! 

Five  attempts  at  rushes  in  confusing 
rapidity  of  succession  were  each  nipped 
in  early  youth.  A  half  circle  was  then 
tried  but  "it  lacked  the  early  brilliant  vig- 
or. Now  indeed  the  fish  began  to  weaken 
but  the  outcome  was  no  certainty.  I 
was  far  from  as  fresh  as  twenty  minutes 
before,  before  the  whirlwind  had  begun. 

Pump.  Pump.  ZEEEEEE!  Pump, 
now  a  brief  respite,  then  at  it  again. 
A  huge  pink,  white  and  brown  form  of 
graceful  strength  rose  slowly  through  the 
clear  water.  The  .huge  jaws  closed  vic- 
iously upon  the  hook  shank.  He  bore  off 
in  a  curve,  his  body  pulsating  with  ex- 
citement and  distress.  Up,  up  under  the 
merciless  rod  work, — up  to  the  side  of 
the  boat.  The  sun  threw  off  brightly 
from  five  feet  of  rare  magnificence, — a 
bar  of  opal. 

Ah,  steady,  Jerry,  boy!  Such  a  beauty! 
With  a  last  dash  of  despair,  the  great  fel- 
low strove  to  flash  downward.  But  in  a 
splash  of  spray,  the  gaff  shot  out,  and  the 
steel  hook  sank  home. 


BY    CHARLTON    LAWRENCE    EDHOLM 


IT  was   ten  o'clock,   a   foggy,  lowering 
night,  as  I     strolled     up     California 
street  from  Dupont,  arm  in  arm  with 
the  ghost  of  the  late  Sherlock  Holmes  of 
blessed  memory. 

In  the  midst  of  our  animated  conversa- 
tion, shop-talk  of  royalties,  copyright 
laws  and  the  profits  and  losses  of  author- 
ship, we  paused  suddenly,  for  out  of  the 
lighted  upper  windows  of  a  shabby  man- 
sion, but  a  few  doors  ahead,  proceeded 
that  most  blood-curdling  of  sounds,  the 
voice  of  a  woman  wailing  in  the  night. 

The  voice  was  very  piercing  and  feline 
in  quality,  the  pitch  ranging  from  a  shrill 
scream  to  a  low,  hollow  moan.  Its  flow 
of  lamentation  was  seemingly  intermin- 
able, nor  was  there  any  slight  pause  for 
catching  of  breath ;  just  one  continued 
plaint  of  countless  variations. 

Immediately  before  the  dilapidated 
portal,  two  carriages  waited  at  the  curb. 

In  the  days  of  gold,  when  the  mansion 
had  occupied  the  center  of  San  Fran- 
cisco's fashionable  neighborhood,  scene  of 
lavish  entertainment  and  new-found  opu- 
lence flung  to  the  winds,  many  a  smart 
equipage  must  have  stood  before  those 
doors  of  a  night,  but  surely  never  so 
strange  a  coach  as  the  two  we  saw  that 
night  waiting  before  the  house  of  lamen- 
tation. 

They  were  mere  hacks,  of  the  shabby 
variety  that  stand  all  night  at  the  plaza 
corner,  waiting  for  any  disreputable  ad- 
venturer or  tipsy  prodigal  who  may  stum- 
ble into  them,  and  the  drivers  were  taci- 
turn, seedy  fellows,  with  frayed  ulsters 
and  slouch  hats;  but  the  scarlet  bunting 
that  draped  their  vehicles  was  of  the 
brightest  new  silk,  caught  into  rosettes 
and  adorned  with  bouquets  of  gilt  paper 
flowers. 

The  coach  lanterns  were  huge  paper 
spheres,  through  whose  oiled  and  vermil- 
ion-inscribed surface  glimmered  the 
flames  of  red  candles.  A  little  cypress 


tree,  growing  in  a  pot,  stood  on  the  seat 
by  the  driver  of  the  first  hack. 

All  these  details  were  hastily  scanned 
by  my  ghostly  companion,  whose  fond- 
ness for  the  lucrative  profession  of  deduc- 
ing saleable  plots  was  not  dimmed  by 
death.  These  piteous  wails,  the  coaches 
adorned  as  for  a  sacrifice,  the  grim  and 
silent  coachmen,  all  appealed  to  him  as 
first-class  "copy." 

"Watson,"  he  began — "I  beg  pa'don, 
me  deah  fellah,  Edholm,  I  meant,  of 
course,  I  would  be  alone.  Come  to  me 
chambers  at  'ahlf  after  seven  to-morrow 
morning,  and  I  will  hand  you  a  typewrit- 
ten solution  of  this  mystery  ready  for 
publication,  at  current  rates  of  payment, 
of  course." 

"Mr.  Sherlock  Holmes,"  I  answered, 
"go  to  the  devil.  I'm  not  your  faithful 
Watson,  and  I'll  not  be  patronized  by  a 
dead  one;  furthermore,  I'll  stay  here  and 
see  the  plot  thicken." 

"Spoken  like  a  man!"  exclaimed  the 
ghost  of  Sherlock  Holmes,  as  he  sought 
to  grasp  my  hand  with  his  foggy  fingers, 
and  his  misty  outline  became  luminous  as 
a  searchlight  in  a  cloudbank,  so  excessive- 
ly did  he  beam  upon  me.  "Watson  was 
really  getting  to  be  a  deuced  bore,  don- 
cherknow;  I  daresay  you've  guessed  that 
I  died  to  be  rid  of  the  fellaJi.  Beastly 
thing  to  say,  but  it's  a  fact." 

A  wail  of  unusual  poignancy  interrupt- 
ed our  little  love-feast,  and  we  craned  our 
necks  and  listened.  We  were  not  the  only 
interested  ones :  from  every  be-grimed 
window  and  doorway  in  the  neighborhood 
peered  clusters  of  oval  faces  toward  the 
lighted  upper  room.  Dark-eyed,  saffron- 
hued  women  and  girls  were  these,  moved 
by  the  curiosity  which  is  shared  by  all 
the  daughters  of  Eve,  whatever  their 
color. 

Maidens  in  rainbow  garments,  striped 
and  silken-pieced  tunic,  and  trousers 
adorned  with  bands  of  various  delicate 


LETTERS. 


57 


hues,  lingered  and  eagerly  chatted  along 
the  curb,  anon  inserting  their  elaborately 
i-oift'ured  and  garlanded  heads  into  the 
dark  passage-way,  whence  the  uncanny 
sound  of  distress  was  now  proceeding. 

Suddenly  the  heart-rending  cry  in- 
creased in  volume;  a  rapid  crescendo  of 
grief  that  was  drowned  by  a  fusillade  in 
the  hall,  accompanied  by  a  whiff  of  burn- 
ing powder.  Then  in  a  cloud  of  sulphur- 
ous smoke,  a  little  fat  woman  clad  in  a 
dark  blouse,  and  with  white  socks  peep- 
ing from  beneath  her  shiny  black  trow- 
sers,  rushed  out  of  the  doorway  and  sta- 
tioning herself  just  outside,  opened  a  gay 
paper  parasol  with  an  upright  bunch  of 
peacock  feathers,  projecting  from  the 
ferule,  and  held  it  above  the  threshold. 

More  explosions  followed  in  the  pas- 
sageway ;  we  could  see  the  red  flashes  back 
in  the  gloom,  and  just  as  the  hubbub  of 
shots  and  screams  reached  its  climax,  a 
second  fat  little  woman,  counterpart  of 
the  first,  dashed  through  the  volley,  bear- 
ing on  her  back  a  bundle  of  shrieks  and 
groans. 

Whatever  else  she  carried  under  the 
scarlet  silk  that  hid  her  burden  could  only 
be  conjectured  by  the  two  human  feet 
that  projected  below  the  veil.  Cramped 
in  a  strange  shape  and  stuffed  into  em- 
broidered baby-shoes  with  pointed  toes, 
they  were  several  sizes  too  small  for  the 
scarlet  figure  humped  over  the  back  of 
the  panting  beldam,  but  they  were  un- 
doubtedly living,  kicking,  human  feet. 

With  all  haste,  the  girl — for  she  sobbed 
like  a  girl — was  dumped  into  the  hack, 
the  door  slammed  upon  her  groans,  and 
the  churlish  driver  whipped  up  his  nags. 

The  second  hack  followed,  but  not  be- 
fore the  ghostly  eyes  of  my  companion 
had  noted  that  two  elegantly-clad  gentle- 


men (or  villains),  had  taken  places  there- 
in. 

As  the  door  of  the  mansion  banged  to, 
and  the  neighboring  windows  were  emp- 
tied of  curious  faces,  I  said  to  my  familiar 
spirit : 

"Is  it  an  abduction  we  have  wit- 
nessed, kidnapping,  New  Arabian  Nights 
adventure,  or  just  a  fancy  nightmare  we 
are  sharing  in  common?  And  further- 
more, is  this  the  Western  metropolis  of 
our  great  and  glorious  United  States  or 
mayhap  the  city  of  Haroun-al-Raschid  ? 
Sherly,  my  boy,  it's  up  to  you!" 

"Nothing  like  this  has  occurred  before 
in  all  my  experience,"  answered  the  ghost 
of  Sherlock  Holmes,  "although  my  ex- 
client,  the  Baroness  Sapphira  of  Mun- 
chausen,  often  related  adventures  almost 
as  strange.  I  have  no  clew,  no  conjecture. 
But  let  us  approach  the  two  vagabonds 
chatting  at  the  corner — opium  users  I 
judge  by  their  emaciated  figures  and  sal- 
low visages — their  remarks  may  throw  a 
light  on  the  horrid  mystery." 

They  did. 

"Say,  Joe,  wuzn't  the  gal's  brothers 
togged  up  regardless?" 

"'Sure !  Them  Chinks  know  how  to 
blow  in  the  coin  fer  a  funeral  or  a  wed- 
ding, same  ez  anybody." 

"But  say,  Joe,  on  the  square  now,  don't 
it  make  you  think  of  a  white  gal,  hangin' 
back  an'  lettin'  on  she  don't  want  to  tie 
up,  the  way  them  Chinese  brides  squall 
an'  take  on  when  they  leave  home  ?  You'd 
think  they  wuz  bound  fer  the  slaughter 
house !" 

"That's  straight,  Bill.  As  Shakesbeer 
sez,  'Wimmen  is  the  riddle  of  the  uni- 
verse.' " 

When  I  turned,  the  ghost  of  Sherlock- 
Holmes  had  vanished. 


BY    DONALD    B.    TOBEY 

The  world  awaits  with  wistful,  wond'ring  eyes 
The  tidings  of  their  constant  carrying; 

For  one  is  bringing  thrills  of  glad  surprise 
And  one  at  Sorrow's  door  is  tarrying. 

I  often  think  that  we  are  much  as  they — 
Brief  messages  that  neighbor-lives  affect. 

How  are  we  missives  written,  grave  or  gay? 

And  those  that  read — what  shall  their  eyes  reflect? 


Vigorous, 
restless  , 

forceful, 


\jo\ce 


the 


,  peaceful, 
meditative, 

Is  tl)e  sootVfl     voce 
of 

me.  -E.J.  R_ 


f-ir— ^ 

TKi 


BY    COLIN    V.    DYMENT 


A    BLACK  figure     from     the    night 
loomed  suddenly  down  the  track; 
my  feet  stopped     instantly     their 
listless  swinging  over  the  platform  edge. 
My  own  apparition  must  have  been  quite 
as  startling  to  the  figure,  for  it  shied  like 
a  scared  cougar. 

"Good  evening,"  I  said,  to  reassure  us 
both,  and  the  figure  halted,  seemed  to 
gather  confidence,  then  advanced  into  the 
light  of  the  station  doorway. 

A  man  in  the  sheepherder's  uncouth 
garb  stood  there.  He  had  the  look  that 
comes  so  often  to  his  class,  when  months 
of  loneliness  in  remote  range  districts 
have  unbalanced  them.  But  this  one  was 
not  even  a  respectable  looking  herder.  His 
semblance  of  felt  hat  let  a  narrow  fore- 
head line  show  a  streak  of  white  above 
bushy  brows.  Two  months'  growth  of 
black  beard  roamed  from  his  bare  throat 
almost  into  his  eyes.  A  ragged  shirt,  gap- 
ing trousers  and  shoes  of  which  the  worn- 
out  toes  let  sand  and  cactus  in,  completed 
an  equipment  unusual  even  in  the  deso- 
late Nevada  lava  beds. 

A  full  minute  I  gazed  at  this  strange 
individual.  The  station  agent  had  gone 
to  a  belated  supper.  There  were  no  pas- 
sengers beside  myself  waiting  the  late 
Overland,  unless  the  bearded  native,  sit- 
ting just  out  of  sight  around  the  corner 
of  the  station,  might  be  one.  Except  to 
pass  a  gruff  "evening,  stranger,"  when  he 
first  appeared,  the  Nevadan  had  said  noth- 
ing for  an  hour,  and  I  promptly  forgot  his 
silent  presence  as  the  new  desert  product 
stood  blinking  beneath  the  station  lamp. 

Three  times  the  herder  tried  to  speak; 
each  time  he  seemed  scared  at  his  own- 
voice.  He  tried  to  peer  into  the  dim  out- 
lines of  sage  and  sand  that  blur  away  by 
dav  toward  the  Sierras,  on  the  west,  and 
Great  Salt  Lake  Basin  to  the  east,  appar- 
entlv  saw  nothing  to  alarm  him  further, 
then  turned  appealingly  toward  me. 

Broken,  trembling  words  came  first, 
more  to  himself  than  me :  "Romany — ah ! 
It  is  far," 


"  'Tis  a  long  way  to  be  walking,"  1  as- 
sented finally.  He  shuddered ;  I  wondered 
why.  Perhaps  because  the  night  air  had 
blown  up  chill  from  the  Sierra.  "Going 
that  way?"  I  added. 

"Oui,  anywhere,"  and  down  he  went  in 

a  half-faint,  beside  my  drummer's  cases. 
*  *  *  * 

In  trips  tli rough  my  desert  territory 
of  Idaho,  Nevada  and  Utah,  I  had  listened 
to  many  strange  experiences,  but  none  so 
weird  as  the  one  this  herder  told  me  when 
whisky  had  revived  him.  Neither  thirst 
nor  hunger  had  brought  him  to  this  con- 
dition. That  was  apparent,  for  his  her- 
der's wallet  looked  half  full,  and  I  could 
hear  the  swish  of  water  in  his  can.  "Some- 
thing funny  here,"  I  thought,  as  he  slow- 
ly opened  his  eyes  and  seemed  to  want  to 
tell  his  troubles. 

"Boss's  band  of  sheep — back  in  the 
desert."  He  straightened  to  a  sitting 
posture  and  at  first  spoke  haltingly.  "Yah- 
ah !  Their  throats  all  tore  now." 

"Who  is  your  boss  ?  What's  your  name  ?" 
I  stooped  to  catch  the  answer. 

"I — I — Pierre,  Pierre  Gaston.  My 
boss  Winnemucca  man,  he  tell  me  go  out 
Black  Rock  way  with  the  band,  an'  it  is, 
ah!  you  not  know,  so  lonely  back  there. 
The  only  two  times  I  see  a  man  them 
whole  four  months  was  the  campbov,  when 
he  bring  me  one  bag  of  grub.  When  he 
throw  it  down  an'  ride  away,  I  feel  like 
my  head  she  whirl,  whirl,  like  this." 

""What's  the  matter  with  the  Black 
Rock  country,  Pierre?"  I  asked  listlessly, 
for  want  of  something  better.  "He's  only 
a  crazy  herder,  after  all,"  I  thought. 

"'Ah,  Monsieur !  she  go  so  fast,  so  still," 
he  cried,  half  getting  up  in  excited 
strength.  Sweat  drops  ran  through  the 
thick  dust  on  his  face;  his  arms  began  to 
gesticulate. 

"I  see  her  first  last  summer,  Monsieur. 
I  bed  the  band  for  night,  then  I  say: 
'Jacques,  Garcon,  good  dogs,  watch  the 
nannies,'  an'  I  climb  a  little  butte  an'  lay 
down  an'  look  up  at  one  star.  I  think 


THE  SHEEPHERDER'S  NEMESIS. 


61 


about  Romany,  'way  off  there,  an'  I  say: 
'Jear — Pierre,  I  mean — maybe — you 
never  see  Romany  any  more.'  Then  I 
cry  up  there  on  my  blanket  an'  go  to 
sleep. 

"Mon  Dieu,  Monsieur!  Something 
make  me  jump  straight  up.  I  look,  three 
wavs,  like  this,  an'  I  see  one  great  big 
eye,  'way  in  the  desert.  It  come  for  me, 
an'  I  not  know  what.  No  one  live  in  fifty 
mile,  an'  no  one  ever  go  this  way.  I  say : 
'Maybe  some  homesteader  man,  he  lose  the. 
trail.  Where  he  get  that  big  lantern,  I 
guess.'  Then  she  get  bigger  an'  bigger, 
that  eye  does,  an'  throw  light  in  the  cou- 
lee, this  way  and  that  way.  Ha !  I  run 
fast  down  to  the  band. 

"I  am  not  scared  yet,  Monsieur,  no,  no, 
I  think  of  them  sheep;  just  how  I  sa^e 
them,  an'  I  say:  'What  for  you  not  run, 
you  sheep?  What  for  you  not  bark,  you 
Jacques  an'  Garcon?'  All  time  she  keep 
come  so  fast,  so  still,  an'  I  stand  by  the 
nannies  an'  start  shake,  like  this.  What 
you  think  ?  Not  one  lif '  her  ear,  just  that 
little  bit. 

'•'Then  I  not  see  the  nannies,  nor  the 
two  dog,  nor  rock  nor  anything,  only  that 
eye ;  she  look  big  as  tub,  and  she  not  seem 
more  as  three  stone  throws.  I  try  turn  me 
to  run.  Sacriste!  Something  hold  me 
fast,  an'  I  scream :  'Go  'way ;  go  'way' — 
my  gracious.  I  make  them  nannies  jump. 
Ha !  I  scare  that  eje,  too.  She  stop,  no, 
she  turn — she  miss  me,  she  go  past,  but 
Mon  Dieu!  Mon  Dieu!" 

"What  was  it,  Pierre  ?"  I  asked  incredu- 
lously. 

"Face  at  them  windows." 

"WHiat  windows?     Red-eye  windows?" 

"Ah,  Monsieur !  No  laugh  at  me.  She 
was  one  train,  an'  those  face — 

"Well,  you  fool,  you  must  have  bedded 
down  by  the  railroad  track,  and  didn't 
know  it,"  I  said,  and  burst  out  laughing 
in  reality. 

"Ah,  I  do  wish,  Monsieur !  but  there  is 
only  one  track,  two  days'  drive  down  that 
way  from  Black  Rock  country.  She  is  one 
spirit  train,  an'  those  face — 

"Well,  Pierre."  I  laughed,  "all  trains 
have  people,  haven't  they,  and  people  must 
have  faces." 

"Oui,  but  these  wear — pity  me,  Mon- 
sieur— 'they  wear  white  grave-clothes.  Mon 
Dieu!  I  shall  neve'-  forget  me!  One  sit 
•at  every  window.  Their  face  is  verv 


white  and  their  hands  very  skinny,  an' 
they  rest  the  face  on  the  hand.  They 
look  like  they  feel  awful.  My  heart,  he 
jump  so  loud !  I  make  my  knee  take  me 
up  the  little  butte  again,  clean  to  the  top. 
I  look  all  round,  like  this,  and  I  not  see 
that  train  any  more.  I  go  back  to  my 
sheep,  an'  they  are  all  settle  down,  so  I 
say:  'Sacre,  Jean,  you  like  one  drunk 
man.' 

"Next  night  I  bed  that  band  down 
quick  an'  roll  up  tight.  I  sleep  in  half 
a  jiffy.  All  to  once,  quick,  my  eye  stare 
up  straight  again,  this  way,  an'  something 
seem  like  it  lif  me  right  up.  'Sacriste! 
them  wolves  again,'  I  say,  an'  I  start  for 
the  nannies. 

"Ah,  Mon  Dieu !    She  come  again. 

"I  shake  an'  shake,  Monsieur,  for  she 
come  over  the  desert  like  last  night,  out 
Devil  Coulee  way.  I  put  my  hands  in 
front  so  I  not  see,  like  this.  I  think,  may- 
be, she  not  come  near  to-night.  Then  I 
peep  just  a  leetle  through  my  fingers,  an' 
Mon  Dieu !  she  close  up  by  the  band.  'Oh, 
Virgin,  save  me !'  I  think  the  boss  maybe 
he  not  believe  I  speak  true  by  those  sheep 
when  I  tell  him  how  they  get  kill.  He 
not  know  how  the  great  big  eye  scare  a 
man.  'way  in  the  lava  beds — he  only  think 
why  you  not  bring  in  the  band  safe,  Jean. 

"Ah,  good  Virgin;  she  turn  an'  we  are 
all  save.  I  put  my  hand  behind  my  ear. 
Listen!  Ha!  I  not  hear  even  the  wind 
blow.  What?  Then  face  again!  I  see 
maybe  fifty,  maybe  hundred,  one  in  each 
window.  I  feel  so  happy  they  not  look  at 
me.  Ah !  the  last  of  them — no,  he  not 
gone,  he  take  his  skinny  hand  an'  he  point 
it,  Mon  Dieu!  straight  for  me.  Then  I 
speak.  Ha !  I  scream  an'  scare  the  nan- 
nies again,  an'  all  at  once,  just  like  that, 
Monsieur,  I  forget.  The  sun  high  up 
again  when  I  wake.  My  face  like  in  the 
sand,  an'  the  nannies  are  'way  off,  eating. 

"I  not  feel  like  breakfast,  Monsieur,  an' 
I  say:  'Jean,  you  better  go  down  Red 
Butte  country.  Sweeter  grass.  You  sheep 
need  moving  anyway.'  I  say  to  myself 
like  that,  an'  I  start  ten,  twenty  mile. 
Sometimes  I  look  back,  an'  ha !  them  coy- 
otes come  too.  They  sneak  by  rocks  when 
I  look,  but  all  day  they  keep  come,  come. 

"That  night  I  find  homesteader  man 
shack  an'  stop.  When  it  get  dark,  I  keep 
my  two  dogs  close  an'  go  in  an'  hide.  Up 
run  them  coyotes  after  a  while  an'  I  hear 


62 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


the  nannies  bleat,  bleat,  an'  the  throats 
tear,  tear,  like  this.  I  not  let  Jacques  an' 
Garcon  get  out  to  drive  them  'way.  No ! 
No !  I  say :  'Lie  down  there,  Jacques ;  lie 
down  there,  Garcon:  be  still,  I  tell  you,' 
an'  when  them  dog  scratch  one  door  an' 
howl  'cause  the  wolves  tear  sheep,  I  strike. 
I  not  shoot  my  gun  at  them  wolf,  either. 
One  noise  tell  that  spirit  train  man,  may- 
be, where  I  hide. 

"Next  morning,  sacriste!  half  boss's 
sheep  dead.  I  get  fresh  meat,  what  them 
wolf  lef,  an'  we  all  hurry.  The  nannies 
are  scare  like  as  me  now.  The  sun  he  melt 
me,  an'  the  dust  choke  me,  an'  the  nannies' 
tongues  hang  'way  down,  but  I  keep  say 
'Shoo,  there !  shoo,  there !  Jacques,  Gar- 
con,  why  for  you  not  make  them  sheep 
go  quicker  ?'  I  go  on  like  that,  Monsieur, 
till  it  get  dark  again,  an'  I  hide  in  a  pot- 
hole. I  say:  'You  dog,  you  two,  mind  them 
sheep  to-night,  an'  when  them  wolf  come 
up,  Jacques  he  run  him  off;  Garcon,  he 
run  him  off,  too.  An'  I  roll  my  head  right 
up  in  my  blanket  so  I  not  see  something, 
if  it  come.  'Ah !'  I  say  next  morning,  'you 
safe  now,  Jean.  It  is  good  you  lef  back 
there!'" 


My  late  train,  the  bill  of  goods  I  had 
not  sold,  my  tired  condition,  all  had  been 
forgotten  as  I  listened,  almost  breathlessly, 
to  the  herder's  story.  While  he  was  tell- 
ing me,  with  many  a  gesticulation  and 
much  pantomime,  of  the  midnight  spirit 
train,  sweeping  noiselessly  across  the  des- 
ert with  its  load  of  ghostly  beings,  his 
face  was  at  times  convulsed,  as  if  by  some 
great  pain.  Even  I  felt  spooky  chills  at 
portions  of  his  tale,  and  caught  myself 
glancing  involuntarily  out  toward  the 
measureless  arid  area,  to  see  if  the  creation 
of  his  disordered  imagination  were  not 
just  showing  its  "great  big  eye"  out  of 
some  coulee  mouth.  I  did  not  notice  that 
the  third  man,  whom  the  herder  could  not 
see,  and  of  whose  existence  I  had  long 
been  oblivious,  had  come  close  to  the  sta- 
tion corner  and  was  standing  where  he, 
too,  could  hear  all  that  was  said : 

"Did  it  come  again?"  I  asked. 

"Ah,  pity  me,  Monsieur.  She  come 
again  that  night,  an'  the  next  night,  an' 
the  next  night.  She  come  a  leetle  closer 
every  night,  an'  I  never  hear  one  sound 


like  the  wind.  One  night  all  them  faces 
begin  to  look  at  me,  an'  I  bury  my  head 
in  the  sand,  like  this. 

"Last  time,  Mon  Dieu!  they  all  point 
finger  at  me.  Ha !  how  I  run.  I  put  my 
hand  over  my  ear  an'  close  my  eyes,  this 
way,  and  never  feel  when  I  fall  in  them 
cactus  beds.  I  run  till  my  head  she  near 
bust.  Oh,  Virgin!  I  fall  over  one  rock 
an'  them  cactus  spines  stick  in  all  over, 
an'  when  I  wake  up,  my  gracious !  that 
sun  he  high  up  again  an'  my  sheep  and 
mv  dog  Jacques  an'  my  dog  Garcon,  they 
all  gone." 

The  herder  stopped  short  and  began  to 
look  doubtfully  at  me,  like  a  man  who 
has  told  too  much.  His  wildness  had  gone. 
His  eyes  gleamed  bright;  the  unburden- 
ing of  his  ghostly  story  seemed  to  have 
relieved  him.  A  look  of  craft  began  to 
take  the  place  long  occupied  by  a  hunted 
look  of  fear. 

I  did  not  want  him  to  stop  now.  "Then 
what?  You  came  here,  Pierre — Jean! 
Sav !  You  told  me  your  name  was  Pierre 
and  you  call  yourself  Jean !" 

He  looked  a  trifle  defiant  and  said  noth- 
ing. 

"Is  your  name  Jean  ?" 
He    sprang   up  .without   a   word   and 
would  have  passed  into  the  night. 

"Just  a  minute."  It  was  the  bearded 
native  behind  the  corner  speaking,  and 
I  rose  in  bewildered  astonishment  as  his 
big  frame  emerged  from  beside  the  shadow 
of  the  station  wall  and  his  handcuffs  went 
around  the  herder's  wrists. 

"I'm  the  sheriff  of  Elko  County,  Jean 
Brantigne,"  he  said.  "I  was  just  going 
up  Black  Rock  way  myself  to  look  for  you. 
I  heard  you'd  gone  in  there." 

"What's  he  done?"  I  asked  the  giant 
sheriff,  when  his  prisoner  was  safely  hand- 
cuffed to  the  station  bench  inside,  and  he 
had  stepped  out  to  see  if  the  headlight  of 
the  Overland  was  visible. 

"Oh,  last  spring  he  unspiked  a  rail 
and  threw  a  train  into  a  gully  over  in 
Humboldt  County.  Ten  poor  devils  were 
killed  right  out,  you  remember,  and  hali 
a  dozen  more  were  burned  up.  This  ghoul 
was  robbing  bodies  when  they  chased  him 
off,  but  he  got  away.  Thafs  what  lie 
dumped  the  train  for,  damn  him.  Funny 
how  them  passengers  all  come  back  to 
haunt  him,  ain't  it?" 


Charles    Dickman    at    work    in    his    Monterey  studio. 


BY    JOSEPHINE    MILDRED     BLANCH 


JUST  as  the  French  artists,  at  a  cer- 
tain season  of  each  year,  leave  their 
studios  in  the  crowded  Quartier 
Latin,  and,  with  easel  and  paint  box,  find 
their  way  to  quaint  Barbizon  or  some 
other  picturesque  environment  of  Paris, 
so  the  California  artist  feels  that  he  must 
spend  a  few  weeks  at  least  of  the  year  in 
the  historic  old  town  of  Monterey — seek- 
ing subjects  offered  by  the  inexhaustible 
wealth  of  beauty  existing  all  around — for 
truly  an  inspiration  to  every  beauty-loving 
soul  is  this  crumbling  old  adobe  town. 
Like  an  old  and  priceless  jewel  in  a  mod- 
ern setting,  it  lies  by  the  crescent  bay.  The 
grayness  of  age  overspreading  its  ruins 
greatly  enhances  its  beauty,  in  such  per- 
fect harmony  do  they  blend  with  earth, 
sky  and  sea,  while  around  them,  •  too,  is 
wrapped  a  mystery  of  romance  and  tra- 


dition that  gives  wings  to  the  imagina- 
tion. As  the  after-glow  of  a  sunset  or 
the  aroma  of  (fading  flowers  do  these 
crumbling  adobes  appeal  to  one. 

Both  in  and  around  Monterey  the  ar- 
tist sees  on  every  hand  subjects  that  fas- 
cinate him— for  Nature  here  is  prodigal 
of  her  allurements.  The  time-seasoned 
rocks,  the  wind-tossed  cypresses,  their 
gnarled  trunks  bleached  into  ghost-like 
whiteness  by  the  strong,  salt  winds;  the 
sturdy  live-oaks  breathing  vigor  and 
warmth,  the  restful  grain  fields  with  their 
back-ground  of  dark  pines,  the  glistening 
whiteness  of  the  sand-dunes,  vivid  with 
light  and  color — all  as  subjects  attract  the 
artist  to  the  place. 

About  thirty  years  ago,  such  men  as 
Tavernier,  Julian  Rix  and  Joe  Strong 
came  with  brush  and  palette  to  reproduce 


64 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


on  canvas  its  beauties,  mixing  with  the 
pigments  of  their  paint  their  rare  appre- 
ciation. About  this  time  came  also  those 
of  literary  ability;  here  Gertrude  Ather- 
ton  spent  some  time,  and  it  was  here  that 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  storm-tossed  on 
the  ocean  of  life  as  he  was,  ill,  "a  stran- 
ger in  a  strange  land,"  and  awaiting  a 
literary  fame  yet  to  be  won,  found  com- 
fort and  inspiration.  His  notes  of  the 
life  in  this  early  Spanish  town  are  among 


he  has  painted  some  of  the  pictures  that 
have  found  an  admiring  public  not  only 
in  California,  but  in  New  York  and  Eu- 
rope, and  given  him  a  world-wide  reputa- 
tion as  a  water  colorist.  Farther  over  the 
hills,  we  come  to  the  most  beautifully  lo- 
cated studio  Hn  all  Monterey,  that  of 
Charles  Rollo  Peters.  It  is  a  spacious 
studio,  built  "far  from  the  madding 
crowd."  From  its  windows  one  sees  the 
sapphire  bay  stretching  miles  below,  and 


A  very   recent  picture   of  Eugene   Neuhaus — "A  Gray  Day  in  Chinatown." 


3iis  choicest  'bits  of  description.  Wftien 
such  rare,  natures  have  sought  Monterey, 
we  cannot  wonder  that  so  many  noted 
California  artists  have  pitched  their  stu- 
dios here. 

In  a  picturesque  adobe  over  which  a 
rose-bush  of  enormous  size  reaches,  and 
which  is  called  "The  Adobe  of  the  Rose- 
bush," made  historic  by  a  romance  of  the 
long  ago,  Francis  McComas  had  his  stu- 
dio for  many  years.  In  this  quaint  place 


the  sleepy  old  town  nestling  in  the  valley. 
Here,  surrounded  by  nature,  undisturbed 
by  sound,  save  song  of  bird  or  whispering 
of  pines,  Charles  Rollo  Peters  is  king  in 
his  "castle  of  dreams."  It  is  here  that  he 
dreams,  on  canvas,  those  beautiful  moon- 
light effects  of  sleeping  adobes  upon 
which  the  moonlight  falls  as  gently  as  the 
blessing  of  a  nun.  Charles  Dickman  hats 
one  of  the  most  charming  studios  in  the 
old  town.  He  seems  to  revel  in  sunlight 


The  gate-way  of  William  Adams'  studio. 


66 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


effects  found  here.  It  can  be  said  of 
Dickman  that  he  is  the  painter  of  Cali- 
fornia sunlight.  His  canvases  teem  with 
light  and  color,  yet  so  true  are  his  values 
and  such  harmony  of  tone  prevails,  that 
one  i?  convinced  of  the  exquisite  refine- 
ment that  may  exist  with  color.  If  he 
paints  an  adobe  wall,  the  sunlight  gleams 
against  it,  making  it  a  mosaic  of  rare 
beauty.  If  he  paints  the  sea,  under  his 
brush  it  becomes  a  tremulous  rainbow  full 
of  prismatic  changes;  if  a  field  of  grain, 
over  the  yellow  slope  you  see  long,  pulsing 
waves  of  heat  and  color.  The  subject  of 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  canvases  he  has 


After  her  return  from  Paris  some  years 
ago,  Miss  McCormick  sought  Monterey  as 
a  field  for  work,  and  so  conscientiously 
has  she  applied  herself  to  nature  here  that 
her  work  is  full  of  the  character  of  this 
locality.  It  is  full  of  feeling  and  vibrant 
with  life  and  color.  Evelyn  McCormick 
ranks  with  those  California  artists  who 
paint  with  intelligence  and  seriousness. 

Among  the  studios  recently  added  to 
the  list  are  those  of  William  Adam  and 
Eugene  Neuhaus.  Eugene  Neuhaus 
comes  from  Berlin,  and  though  having 
been  in  California  but  a  short  time,  has 
found  a  place  among  the  prominent  paint- 


The  historic  "Old  Pacific  House,"  in  which  Evelyn  McCormick   now  has  her  studio. 


painted  is  a  country  road  scene  near 
Monterey.  Long  evening  shadows  tone 
the  canvas  to  the  low  key  of  the  late  af- 
ternoon, the  lowering  sun  sending 
through  passing  clouds  one  glorious  shaft 
of  lighW- the  day's  good-bye. 

Up  a  creaking  flight  of  steps  and 
around  a  seemingly  never-ending  veranda 
of  the  old  historic  hotel,  "The  Pacific 
House,"  in  a  quaint  room  made  most  ar- 
tistic by  hangings  of  rare  old  shawls  and 
furnished  with  many  interesting  antiques, 
we  find  the  studio  of  Evelyn  McCormick. 


ers.  His  work  is  strong  and  virile,  pos- 
sessing that  most  essential  quality,  spon- 
taneity. He  has  done  much  strong  work 
in  and  around  Monterey,  and  has  chosen 
the  "gray  days"  as  the  key-note  to  most 
of  his  pictures.  One  of  his  most  character- 
istic sketches  is  "A  Gray  Day  in  China- 
town." William  Adam,  formerly  of  Scot- 
land, and  a  member  of  the  Glasgow  Art 
Club,  has  a  charming  studio  filled  with 
interesting  work.  Mr.  Adam  chose  Cali- 
fornia as  his  home  about  six  years  ago, 
though  during  that  time  having  revisited 


The  "Adobe  of  the  Rose-bush,"   owned  by  Signorita  Bonifascio,   in  which  Francis  McComas 
paints   his   charming  water   colors. 


68 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


EngLind,  Scotland  and  France.  He  has 
brought  with  him  excellent  work.  You 
can  wander  with  him  in  his  sketches  over 
Scottish  Moorlands,  purple  with  heather, 
through  quaint  English  rural  scenes  and 
charming  bits  of  France. 

These  are  but  a  few  of  the  many  inter- 


esting studios  dotted  here  and  there  on 
the  hill  slopes  around  the  old  town. 

In  a  few  years,  "the  old  Monterey" 
will  have  passed  forever:  it  will  live  only 
in  art,  immortalized  by  those  who 
have  told  her  story  by  word  or  pic- 
ture. 


C.    S.    COLEMAN 


Beside  the  mountains  and  the  sea  she  stands, 
While  o'er  her  watch  the  kindly,  happy  skies, 

A  queen  of  mighty  peoples,  noble  lands, 
The  glories  of  the  future  in  her  eyes. 

For  her  no  gods  of  dim,  forgotten  days, 

No  kings  a-slumber  where  the  long  years  smile — 

The  past  knows  naught  of  her  or  of  her  ways — 
She  dwelleth  not  in  lang'rous  lotus  isle. 

The  East  may  keep  the  mysteries  of  the  dead, 
For  her  the  secrets  of  the  years  to  be, 

She  does  not  stand  'mid  ruins  with  bowed  head, 
But  gazes  far  into  futurity. 

The  stars  look  kindly  on  her,  and  the  sun, 
While  wide  before  her  waits  the  joyous  sea, 

For  well  they  know  her  way  and  Fate's  are  one — 
The  Queen  shall  be  the  bride  of  Destiny. 

And  we,  we  children  of  the  regal  West, 

Our  toils  are  hers,  our  dreams  are  all  of  her, 

For  in  our  souls  (thus  we  are  trebly  blest) 
We  feel  the  spirit  of  an  empire  stir. 

'Tis  true  we  dream,  but  we  are  workers,  too, 

And  this  the  lesson  through  the  years  we  learn- 

We  build  an  empire  such  as  no  man  knew, 

We  gem  a  crown  a  Caesar  would  not  spurn. 


BY    JAMES    WILLIAM    JACKSON 


^T  TNT1L     Wednesday,      at     two 

-.          o'clock,  then;  and  I  think  my 

^"^     promotion  to  the  superintend- 

ency,  with  fifteen  hundred  a  year,  will  be 

one  of  the  wedding  presents.    Good-bye!" 

Wednesday  morning  had  come,  and  the 
young  engineer  looked  up  for  a  moment 
from  the  drawings  on  his  desk  and  gazed 
out  of  the  shack  window  toward  the  curl- 
ing smokes  of  the  far-away  city  chimneys. 
There,  in  the  distant  valley,  was  the  dear- 
est girl,  and  within  a  few  hours  he  would 
marry  her. 

Houghton  was  a  fledgling  engineer. 
Away  up  here  in  the  hill-tops  his  firm  was 
building  a  reservoir  for  the  city.  It  had 
been  a  long  summer,  miles  away  from  the 
girl ;  but  the  reward  was  coming  now,  and 
on  this  crisp  autumn  morning  Houghton 
felt  the  jubilation  of  maturing  happy 
plans. 

He  resumed  his  work  with  as  much  in- 
dustry as  his  truant  thoughts  would  per- 
mit. Just  now  his  mind  persisted  in 
dwelling  on  the  coveted  promotion.  He 
had  found  favor  with  his  chief,  nis  work 
had  been  eminently  satisfactory,  and  he 
knew  somebody  was  going  to  get  that 
promotion  very  soon.  He  had  no  grounds 
on  which  to  prophesy  'his  own  elevation, 
but  the  conditions  were  very  favorable. 

Hi?  meditations  and  work  were  inter- 
rupted by  the  opening  of  the  door.  Look- 
ing up  he  found  his  chief  standing  there. 

"Houghton,"  Mr.  Smalley  began,  and 
Houghton  afterward  remembered  that  the 
chief  seemed  a  little  embarrassed,  "Thorn- 
ton is  not  in  this  morning.  I  must  ask 
you  to  finish  his  drawings.  I  want  you  to 
hurry  them  through  before  night." 

For  a  moment,  Houghton  was  speech- 
less. Then,  with  a  sudden  sense  of  relief, 
it  occurred  to  him  that  Mr.  Smalley  must 
have  forgotten  the  day.  Houghton  al- 
most laughed  to  think  how  funny  that 
was. 

"Why,  Mr.  Smalley,"  he  expostulated, 
with  a  genial  air,  "you  know  I  go  off  at 
noon.  This  is  my  wedding  day." 


Mr.  Smalley's  brow  contracted  in  a 
large,  unsympathetic  frown.  "I  realize 
that  perfectly,"  he  said,  with  a  trace  of 
testiness.  "But,  my  dear  fellow,  you 
know  the  wisdom  of  work  before  play.  I 
can't  lay  off  half  a  hundred  men  just  be- 
cause the  drawings  are  not  ready." 

"'But,"  and  Houghton's  voice  rose  to  a 
high  pitch  of  protest,  as  he  stood  up  and 
faced  his  employer,  "think  of  my  situa- 
tion, sir.  I  can't  finish  those  papers  be- 
fore six  o'clock  to-night,  and  I  am  due 
for  the  most  important  engagement  of  a 
man's  life  at  two.  I  simply  can't  stay 

here     all     day.     It — it — would  be ." 

He  couldn't  think  of  any  better  term  at 
the  moment  than  "highway  robbery,"  so 
the  sentence  broke  in  the  middle. 

"Very  well,"  Mr.  Smalley  commented, 
easily.  "If  you  think  it  is  out  of  the 
question,  I  have  nothing  further  to  say. 
I  can  command  you  only  so  long  as  you 
stay  in  my  employ.  You  understand." 

Mr.  Smalley  turned  to  the  door,  leav- 
ing Houghton  in  a  figurative  heap  be- 
side his  desk,  his  mind  troubled  with  a 
drowning  man's  lightning-like  review  of 
the  situation.  Only  Sunday  he  had  said 
that  he  hoped  one  of  the  wedding  presents 
would  be  a  promotion  to  the  superinten- 
dency  at  fifteen  hundred  a  year.  Now  he 
was  on  the  verge  of  throwing  over  a  situa- 
tion at  ten  hundred.  True,  he  felt  justi- 
fied in  such  a  course  after  the  preposter- 
ous demand ;  but — could  he  think  of  mar- 
rying without  a  situation.  Love  in  a 
cottage  was  all  very  well;  but  a  thousand 
dollars  or  fifteen  hundred  was  much  bet- 
ter. He  was  just  about  to  plead  for  a  lit- 
tle time  to  think  when  his  employer  fore- 
stalled him. 

"Better  take  a  little  time  to  make  up 
your  mind,  Houghton,"  Mr.  Smalley  sug- 
gested from  the  doorway.  "Then  if  you 
feel  that  you  can't  stay,  say  so." 

Houghton  went  savagely  to  work  for  an 
hour  before  he  allowed  himself  definite 
thought  on  the  subject.  He  knew,  how- 
ever, that  it  was  useless  to  think  of  finish- 


70 


OVEELAND  MONTHLY. 


ing  his  task  at  two  o'clock,  and  at  the 
end  of  an  hour  he  threw  down  his  pencil 
and  considered  the  situation. 

"Great  Scott,"  he  moaned,  "where  did 
I  ever  get  the  notion  that  Smalley  had  any 
milk  of  human  kindness  in  his  heart? 
And  as  for  giving  me  a  raise,  he  is  as 
likely  to  cut  down  my  salary  in  pure  con- 
trariness. But  I  can't  help  myself.  Net- 
tie will  have  to  wait  until  I  can  get  there, 
after  the  work  is  done." 

He  drew  a  sheet  of  paper  over  on  top  of 
his  drawings  and  wrote  enough  of  the 
story  to  indicate  an  unavoidable  change 
of  the  wedding  hour  from  two  to  eight 
o'clock.  "Believe  me,"  he  concluded,  "I 
can't  help  myself." 

He  took  the  letter  into  the  office  of  Mr. 
Smalley,  and  found  that  ogre  busy  at 
Iris  desk. 

"I've  decided  to  finish  the  drawings," 
Houghton  coldly  explained. 

Mr.  Smalley  merely  nodded,  without 
turning  his  head. 

"May  I  ask  you  to  have  this  note  sent 
over  to  the  town,  sir?" 

Houghton  laid  this  note  as  he  spoke  at 
Mr.  Smalley's  elbow.  There  was  no  ac- 
knowledgment, no  word.  Apparently  it 
was  too  trivial  a  matter  for  the  attention 
of  such  a  great  man.  Houghton  stood 
by  irresolutely  an  instant.  He  was  half- 
minded  to  take  the  note  back,  put  on  his 
hat  and  coat,  and  then  leave  the  office.  If 
he  could  have  telephoned,  there  would 
have  been  no  need  of  a  note,  but  the  only 
means  of  communication  with  the  city 
was  by  carrier. 

Houghton  ended  in  leaving  the  note  on 
the  desk.  Then  he  went  back  to  work. 
For  several  hours  he  lost  himself  in  the 
intricacies  of  lines  and  plotting;  but  af- 
ter a  while  a  dispirited  mood  took  posses- 
sion of  him. 

"To  think  of  a  man's  wedding  being 
spoiled  in  this  fashion,"  he  told  himself, 
"and  Smallev  supposed  to  be  a  close 
friend  of  Nettie's  father.  Ugh!  He 
makes  me  sick." 

The  hour  of  two  struck  as  he  came  to 
a  point  in  the  drawings  where  some  blun- 
der had  been  made  with  the  figures.  There 
was  a  short-line  telephone  in  the  office, 
connecting  with  the  work  on  the  reser- 
voir; and  he  crossed  the  room  to  call  up 
the  field  for  the  necessary  figures. 

He  was  just  about  to  explain  his  dif- 


ficulty, after  receiving  an  answer  to  his 
call.  Instead  his  lips  closed  with  a  snap, 
as  if  he  had  been  struck  suddenly  dumb. 
He  was  unable  to  speak  until  the  voice  at 
the  far  end  again  demanded  his  attention. 

"Thornton,  what  the  dickens  are  you 
doing  over  there?  I  thought  you  were 
home,  sick.  Who  sent  you  there?"  and 
there  was  both  vehemence  and  undis- 
guised irritation  in  Houghton's  tones. 

"Say,"  came  back  a  good-natured 
drawling  voice,  "how  long  you  been  boss 
on  this  ranch?  You  don't  mean  to  say 
that  old  Smalley  has  died  since  this 
morning  and  willed  you  his  job?  Other- 
wise you  better  change  the  tone  of  your 
commands,  or  I'll  lick  you  the  first  chance 
T  get." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Thornton,"  Hough- 
ton  murmured  over  the  wire,  too  ruffled 
to  be  gracious.  "But  I  was  so  surprised 
by  your  voice.  Smalley  won't  let  me  off! 
said  you  were  not  in  and  that  I  would 
have  to  do  your  work;  and  here  you  are 
down  in  the  Superintendent's  berth. 
What  does  it  mean?" 

Thornton's  voice  was  heard  chuckling 
in  unfeeling  amusement.  Houghton 
clenched  his  disengaged  hand  as  he  list- 
ened. 

"Sorry,  Houghton,"  Thornton  drawled 
back,  complacently ;  "I  really  thought  you 
were  going  to  get  this.  Imagine  my  as- 
tonishment when  the  old  man  sent  me 
here  and  told  me  to  say  nothing  about  it. 
I  haven't  said  anything,  either,  mind 
you."  But  Houghton  waited  to  hear  no 
more.  With  manifest  irritation  he  pre- 
ferred his  request  for  the  needed  figures. 

The  long  afternoon  dragged  out.  It 
was  not  until  half  past  six  that  Hough- 
ton  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  and  mut- 
tered another  malediction  on  the  head 
of  Mr.  Smallvjy. 

Gathering  up  the  drawings  (he  took 
them  into  the  inner  office  and  laid  them 
on  the  chiefs  desk  in  front  of  the  empty 
chair.  They  were  well  done,  he  knew; 
at  least  there  was  that  satisfaction  to  re- 
deem the  spoiled  day. 

"When  I  get  a  chance  to  work  for  a 
more  reasonable  master,"  he  muttered, 
"I'll  take  advantage  of  it  and  spoil  your 
miserable  career.  Your  conscience  will 
smite  you  for  losing  such  a  talented  sub- 
ordinate, see  if  it  doesn't." 

Smiling  grimly  at  his  own  vanity  and 


THE  PATIENCE  OF  JOB. 


71 


somewhat  refreshed  by  his  apostrophe  to 
the  empty  chair  he  was  about  to  leave  the 
office  when  his  eye  lighted  upon  a  famil- 
iar object.  It  was  the  note  he  had  -writ- 
ten at  nine  o'clock  that  morning! 

"By  all  the  furies/'  Houghton  ejacu- 
lated; "this  is  the  limit  of  endurance. 
Not  another  stroke  of  work  will  I  do  for 
this  man." 

He  snatched  u1"1  the  note  with  a  half- 
formed  determination  to  seek  out  his 
chief  and  wreak  out  a  satisfying  ven- 
geance. 

"Before  I  take .  my  tools  away  from 
this  place,"  he  promised  himself,  "Smal- 
ley shall  hear  from  my  lips  what  a  low 
down,  miserable  creature  he  is.  The  de- 
mons take  him,  if  such  a  small  soul  ;s 
worth  the  trouble." 

He  had  torn  the  note  into  a  hundred 
pieces  and  thrust  them  into  his  pocket. 
He  threw  on  his  coat  with  an  angry  ges- 
ture that  nearly  ripped  it  up  the  back. 
Jamming  his  hat  on  he  passed  out  and 
sprang  into  the  waiting  carriage. 

"Drive!"  he  commanded;  "drive  as  if 
the  No !"  he  mentally  thun- 
dered to  himself;  "I  won't  swear  on  my 
wedding  day.  I  haven't  lost  my  temper 
yet,  either;  though  I  will  when  I  meet 
that  conglomerated  caricature  of  a — Oh  ! 
what  a  poverty  stricken  language  this  is !" 

He  gave  himself  up  to  speculation. 
What  must  the  peoplle  think  of  him ; 
what  must  the  poor  girl  be  enduring  all 
this  time?  "Due  for  a  wedding  at  two 
o'clock.  Here  it  is  nearly  seven  and — 
and — neither  of  us  married  yet,"  he  con- 
cluded, lamely. 

All  his  personal  preparations  for  the 
wedding  had  been  made  before  he  left  the 
office.  When  the  carriage  drew  up  at  the 
house  he  jumped  out  and  ran  up  ths 
steps  without  loss  of  time. 

There  were  no  acclamations.  He  was 
admitted,  without  any  tearful  demands 
for  an  explanation,  shown  to  his  room 
and  left  alone. 

After  a  little  while  he  was  ushered  into 


the  presence  of  the  waiting  guests.  The 
unruffled  minister  was  there;  so  was  the 
fiendish  Smalley.  Unconscious  of  the 
damning  denunciation  that  was  to  come 
when  there  should  be  time,  the  wretch 
posed  as  an  honored,  happy  guest. 

Then  came  the  bride  on  her  father's 
arm;  and  the  radiant  picture  drove  from 
Hough  ton's  mind  all  uncouth  and  un- 
timely thoughts. 

It  was  long  after  the  ceremony  before 
leisure  and  quiet  came  to  the  young  peo- 
ple; and  meanwhile  Houghton,  the  hypo- 
crite, had  smilingly  acknowledged  the 
congratulations  of  the  hard  Smalley. 

But  now  they  were  alone  and  Hough- 
ton  allowed  himself  to  look  into  the  bles- 
sedest  eyes.  They  met  his  with  the  ful- 
lest reciprocation. 

"Dearest,"  she  said,  "wasn't  it  too  bad 
the  Bishop  should  be  delayed,  and  have 
to  telegraph  us  that  he  couldn't  be  here 
until  evening?  You  must  have  been 
dreadfully  disturbed  when  Mr.  Smalley 
gave  you  my  message." 

She  stopped  for  a  moment  to  compen- 
sate him. 

"See,"  she  added,  then,  holding  up  an 
envelope;  "a  wedding  present  that  we 
haven't  opened.  Let's  look." 

It  was  a  business  letter  he  had,  dated 
and  so  forth.  But  the  gist  was: 

" . . .  .  It  gives  me  pleasure  to  enclose 
a  check  and  a  two  months'  leave  of  ab- 
sence for  your  husband.  I  have  taken 
the  liberty  to  test  him;  and  I  know  he 
will  make  me  a  good  and  patient  superin- 
tendent. I  am  keeping  the  place  for 
him." 

And  it  was  signed  by  that  contempti- 
ble caricature  of  a  Smalley. 

Houghton  sought  an  adequate  ejacu- 
lation, but  the  poverty-stricken  language 
proved  as  ineffective  as  he  had  found  it 
earlier  in  the  day.  Like  the  brave,  pa- 
tient man  he  was,  he  took  refuge  in  action. 

"You'll  make  a  sterner-looking  super- 
intendent with  your  mustache  shaved  off" 
— was  her  irrelevant  observation. 


BY  FLORENCE  CROSBY  PARSONS 


WITHIN  recent  years,  many  hon- 
ors have  come  to  the  great  com- 
monwealth of  California,  none 
of  which  outrank  in  splendor  or  in  pro- 
phecy the  crown  she  has  won  as  Queen  of 
climatic  conditions,  furnishing  a  superior 
vantage  ground  for  the  sweep  of  the 
"magic  mirror"  when  it  shall  swing  to 
the  motion  of  the  universe — the  largest 
telescope  the  world  has  ever  seen. 

To  the  far  south,  the  ramparts  of  the 
Sierra  Madre  lift  their  serrated  heights 
forever  to  north  and  east  above  the  famed 
San  Gabriel  Valley,  where,  upon  its  loft- 
iest peak,  Mount  Wilson,  at  an  altitude  of 
6,000  feet,  has  been  erected  a  fine  solar 
observatory  230  feet  long,  with  steel  frame 
and  canvas  cover,  giving  it  the  appear- 
ance of  a  splendid  ship  about  to  sail  out 
over  the  crags  and  steeps  and  voiceless 
canyons,  above  the  vast  pine  forests  that 
clothe  the  mountain-sides,  away  over  the 
fair  valley  with  its  vineyards  and  orange 
groves;  away,  away,  into  the  limitless 
blue  of  the  vaulted  sky. 

This  white-winged  ship  contains  not 
only  a  horizontal  telescope,  but  is  equip- 
ped with  a  variety  of  other  instruments 
— clocks,  short  and  tall,  photographic  ma- 
chinery and  an  array  of  scientific  para- 
phernalia that  seems,  indeed,  the  work  of 
a  magician  to  the  ordirary  poor  mortal 
who  follows  the  professor  about  in  a  dazed 
and  confounded  condition,  secretly  hop- 
ing he  looks  wise,  and  can  manage  to 
stammer :  "Oh,  certainly !'  "Ah,  yes !"  in 
the  right  places. 

The  situation  is  relieved  by  the  fact 
that  the  courteous  conductor,  Professor 
George  E.  Hale,  never  by  word  or  look  as- 
sumes that  you  cannot  understand  his  ex- 
planations, or  are  not  perfectly  familiar 
with  astronomy  throughout  its  heights 
and  depths. 

The  observatory  is  in  charge  of  this 
genial  professor,  a  man  still  young  in 
years,  possessing  rare  charm  of  manner, 
so  modest,  in  fact,  that  he  seems  unaware 
•of  his  rank  as  one  of  the  foremost  astron- 


omers in  the  country;  that  his  fame  has 
gone  abroad  as  inventor  of  the  spectro 
heliograph,  an  instrument  for  photo- 
graphing solar  phenomena,  and  for  his 
recent  discoveries  upon  the  sun. 

When  Mr.  Carnegie  gave  ten  millions 
to  establish  the  Carnegie  Institution  of 
Washington,  the  largest  grant  accorded 
to  any  one  department,  amounting  thus 
far  to  over  $300,000,  was  allotted  to  as- 
tronomy. 

The  observatory  shops,  built  and  main- 
tained from  this  fund,  and  wherein  are 
made  all  the  instruments  for  use  upon  the 
mountain,  are  located  in  Pasadena,  that 
beautiful  city  whose  name  means  "the 
Valley's  Crown." 

Astronomers,  especially,  seem  so  filled 
with  a  sense  of  the  immensity  of  the  uni- 
verse, and  of  their  own  comparative  in- 
significance, that  they  are  very  modest 
men,  and  oft-times  retiring,  keeping  much 
within  the  realm  of  their  own  thought. 

All  this  wonderful  work  in  the  shops  is 
under  the  superintendence  of  Professor 
George  W.  Ritchey,  who  possesses  both  of 
the  above-named  attributes.  Apparently 
unconscious  of  the  boast  he  might  make 
as  standing  among  the  leaders  both  here 
and  in  Europe,  in  his  chosen  field  of  as- 
tronomical photography,  and  the  con- 
struction for  this  work  of  reflecting  tele- 
scopes. 

The  great  center  of  attraction  just  now 
is  the  huge  glass  that  was  cast  in  St.  Go- 
bain,  France,  remaining  in  the  Yerkes 
Observatory  optical  shop  for  five  years 
awaiting  funds  for  its  completion,  when 
it  was  brought  to  Pasadena,  where  for 
two  years  it  has  been  under  the  eye  of 
Professor  Ritchey  during  the  long  and 
careful  process  of  "grinding  and  figur- 
ing." 

Do  not  suppose  that  the  public  are  ad- 
mitted, even  on  visiting  days,  into  the 
very  presence  chamber  wherein  this  splen- 
did mirror  rests  upon  its  iron  throne. 
They  must  pay  their  court  through  the 
medium  of  a  glass  panel. 


Mt.    Wilson   Observatory. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  TELESCOPE. 


75 


The  impression  is  of  looking  into  an 
operating  room,  rather  than  into  a  shop. 

The  walls  and  floor  are  carefully  washed 
— above  the  mirror  is  stretched  a  canvas; 
directions  are  given  through  a  speaking 
tube,  the  workmen  don  surgeon's  caps  and 
aprons,  performing  their  labor  behind 
closed  doors — all  these  precautions  lest 
dust  from  the  Everywhere,  the  very  motes 
in  the  sunbeam,  should  gather  upon  the 
delicate  surface. 

Notwithstanding  constant  vigilance, 
particles  will  float  upon  the  forbidden 
ground. 

This  mirror  is  60  inches  in  diameter,  8 
inches  thick,  and  weighs  one  ton.  As  it 
rests  upon  the  turntable  it  resembles  a 
huge  wheel  of  ice  into  whose  green  depths 
you  can  look  as  if  it  were  a  frozen  block. 

This  lovely  coloring  in  green  is  a  sur- 
prise to  the  beholder,  who  thinks  to  see  the 
mirror  clear  or  about  as  white 'as  a  win- 
dow pane. 

In  the  work  of  grinding,  fine  emery  and 
water  are  placed  between  the  grinding 
tools  and  the  surface  of  the  mirror. 

When  the  surfaces  are  properly 
smoothed,  they  are  coated  with  pure  sil- 
ver, that  metal  furnishing  highest  reflec- 
tive power.  The  concave  front  is  the  op- 
tical surface,  the  other  side  being  polished 
approximately  flat,  and  silvered  because 
the  changes  effected  by  the  temperature 
would  otherwise  be  unsymmetrical. 

Before  it  was  decided  where  to  place 
this  great  telescope,  various  points  were 
visited  and  their  merits  considered.  The 
severe  winters  at  Yerkes  make  the  as- 
tronomer's work  difficult,  and  as  the  San 
Gabriel  Valley  has  a  large  percentage  of 
cloudless  days,  it  is  hoped  to  find  much 
advantage  in  the  clear  atmosphere  and 
altitude  of  Mt.  Wilson,  a  peak  destined  to 
be  no  longer  unknown  to  fame. 

And  now  the  60-inch  mirror  is  to  be 
outmatched  upon  its  own  grounds.  A 
citizen  of  Los  Angeles,  Mr.  John  D. 
Hooker,  has  placed  at  the  disposal  of  the 
Carnegie  Institute  fifty  thousand  dollars 
wherewith  to  purchase  and  prepare  a  disc 
of  glass  that  shall  be  one  hundred  inches 
in  diameter — the  largest  reflector  lens  in 
the  world.  This  mammoth  wheel  will  be 
eighteen  inches  thick,  and  weigh  four  and 
one-half  tons. 

Professor  Ritchey  explains  that  "this 
thickness  is  necessary  that  the  glass  shall 


be  sufficiently  rigid  to  retain  its  perfect 
form,  and  even  then  it  is  necessary  to 
support  the  back  and  edges  by  an  elabo- 
rate system  of  plates,  levers  and  weights 
to  prevent  the  flexure  of  the  mirror  when 
the  telescope  is  in  use." 

The  great  French  manufacturers  of  St. 
Gobain  have  agreed  to  undertake  the  cast- 
ing. Prof.  Hale  says :  "It  will  be  an  ex- 
tremely long  and  difficult  operation  to  cast 
and  anneal  such  an  immense  mass,  but 
in  view  of  their  experience,  we  confident- 
ly count  on  a  successful  outcome." 

Meanwhile,  larger  shops  must  foe  built, 
machinery  for  grinding  and  polishing 
be  designed  and  constructed,  together  with 
apparatus  for  lifting  the  glass. 

Prof.  Hale  asserts  that  this  100-inch 
telescope  will  give  seven  and  a  half  times 
as  much  light  as  the  most  powerful  pho- 
tographic telescope  in  use,  and  two  and 
a  half  times  as  much  as  the  60  inch  reflec- 
tor now  being  made. 

He  further  declares.  "We  cannot  tell 
whether  atmospheric  conditions  even  on 
Mt.  Wilson  will  be  perfect  enough  to  meet 
the  demands  which  will  be  imposed  by  the 
great  size  of  the  telescope." 

Although  the  60  inch  lens  will  be  ready 
within  this  year  for  its  mounting,  it  will 
require  about  four  years  to  complete  its 
marvelous  successor. 

The  work  is  by  no  means  done  when 
the  glass  receives  its  coat  of  shining  sil- 
ver. 

Think  of  taking  250  tons  of  metal, 
huge  iron  castings,  up  a  narrow  mountain 
trail,  at  its  widest  only  twelve  feet,  pre- 
vious means  of  transportation  having  been 
the  backs  of  sturdy  little  burros. 

Even  the  stoutest  of  these  strangely 
wise  and  sure-footed  creatures  could  hard- 
ly be  expected  to  climb  eight  miles  up 
those  perilous  steeps  with  the  precious 
mirror,  weighing  a  ton,  strapped  upon  his 
back! 

For  months  the  famous  trail  has  been 
in  process  of  widening  and  smoothing,  at 
a  cost  of  $25,000,  under  the  skillful  hands 
of  Japanese  laborers,  who  deserve  unlim- 
ited praise  for  the  marvel  they  have 
wrought.  But  at  its  best  it  is  a  dangerous 
road,  subject  to  disaster  from  mountain 
rains  and  from  boulders  falling  from 
above.  To  carry  such  heavy  materials  to 
that  altitude,  a  special  truck  has  been 
constructed  by  the  Couple-Gear  Freight 


76 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


Wheel  Company  of  Detroit. 

Much  interest  and  enthusiasm  was 
shown  when  the  long,  red-painted  auto- 
mobile car  appeared  for  its  trial  trip  up- 
on the  streets  of  Pasadena.  A  storage 
battery  could  not  furnish  power  for  four 
motors,  so  a  gasoline  engine  of  forty 
horse-power  is  connected  with  a  dynamo 
which  generates  the  electric  current. 

The  direct  transmission  of  power  to 
each  wheel  is  effected  by  a  series  of  elec- 
tric motors,  one  in  each  wheel,  which  is 
operated  on  its  own  axle  so  that  shortest 
possible  turns  may  be  made. 

There  is  a  separate  gear  for  each  set  of 
wheels,  or  the  four  may  be  steered  to- 
gether. The  weight  of  the  truck  is  eleven 
thousand  pounds.  A  trap  door  in  its  cen- 
ter allows  portions  of  the  castings  to  sink 
within  its  depths  to  bring  the  center  of 
weight  as  low  as  possible. 

The  60  inch  glass  is  not  to  be  mounted 
in  the  observatory  now  in  use  upon  "the 
peak/'  but  will  be  placed  in  a  metal 
building  having  a  steel  dome  60  feet  in 
diameter,  to  be  erected  the  coming  sum- 
mer by  men  sent  from  the  Union  Iron 
Works  of  San  Francisco,  where  all  the 
heavy  castings  were  made.  The  fine  at- 
tachments and  delicate  machinery  for  ad- 
justing the  telescope,  together  with  the 
driving  clock,  have  been  fashioned  in  the 
Pasadena  shops.  Next  April  the  auto 
truck  will  begin  carrying  up  materials  for 
this  dome,  and  last  of  all,  some  time  in  the 
autumn  the  famous  glass  will  make  the 
ascent.  If  the  four  years'  work  upon  the 
100-inch  lens  proves  successful,  another 
and  larger  building  will  be  prepared  upon 
the  mountain  top  to  receive  it. 

Since  that  day  when  "the  morning  stars 
sang  together,"  men  have  striven  to  in- 
terpret the  symbols  blazoned  upon  the 
vaulted  sky  by  Him  who  sitteth  "above 


the  circle  of  the  earth." 

Throughout  the  ages  they  have  groped 
amid  the  splendors  of  astronomical  science 
— now  and  then  discovering  a  marvelous 
law,  ?.  rolling  planet,  a  burning  sun. 

The  work  of  the  astronomer  is  but  dim- 
ly comprehended,  to  a  very  large  extent 
unappreciated.  Who  stops  to  think  of  him 
up  there  in  his  lonely  watch  tower  fairly 
wrestling  with  the  spheres  for  science's 
sake '' 

He  knows  much  of  severe  midnight, 
yes,  all-night  toil,  of  solitude,  oft-times 
of  bitter  cold,  of  terrible  stress  upon 
nervo  and  brain  and  muscle,  as  with  the 
world  asleep,  he  sits  motionless,  yet  with 
every  sense  alert,  his  keen  eye  upon  the 
great  glass  which  shall  perchance  reveal 
ere  the  sun  comes  again  from  out  his 
chamber  in  the  east,  the  path  of  some  new 
star,  the  orbit  of  some  whirling  planet. 

Powerless  to  "loose  the  bands  of  Orion, 
or  to  bind  the  sweet  influence  of  the  Plei- 
ades," nevertheless,  he  can  do  his  heroic 
part  toward  swinging  this  old  world  up 
into  clearer  light,  into  fuller  knowledge. 

"There  is  no  speech  nor  language  where 
their  voice  is  not  heard."  The  faint,  far 
sound,  mystic  as  the  music  of  the  spheres, 
felJ  upon  the  ear  of  astrologer,  magician, 
divinator,  among  the  ancients,  gathering 
volume  when  heard  by  astronomers  in 
Egypt,  in  Greece,  in  Chaldea,  vibrating 
yet  louder  as  Copernicus.  Galileo,  Her- 
schel,  bent  their  heads  to  listen. 

Yet  none  of  these  ever  dared  to  drear 
or  prophesy  or  picture  to  the  imaginatioi 
the  wonders  that  may  be  within  the  grasj 
of  modern  research,  when  away  up  amon£ 
the  solitudes   of  the  hoary  mount,     the 
mighty  lens  turns  its  shining  eye  of  silver 
upon   the  starry  heavens   declaring     the 
glory  of  God,  the  firmament  showing  HU 
handiwork. 


BY    CHARLES    FRANCIS   SAUNDERS 

The  wind  broke  open  a  rose's  heart 

And  scattered  her  petals  far  apart. 

Driven  before  the  churlish  blast 

Some  in  the  meadow  brook  were  cast, 

Or  fell  in  the  tangle  of  the  sedge; 

Some  were  impaled  on  the  thorn  of  the  hedge 

But  one  was  caught  on  my  dear  love's  breast 

Where  long  ago  my  heart  found  rest. 


IHlrana®  <smdl 


BY    LIZZIE    GA1NES    WILCOXSON 


WHEN  it  became  a  settled  fact 
that  Mrs.  Dutcher  Lombard- 
Hill's  sister  was  coming  to  visit 
her,  Mrs.  Hill  began  to  look  for  a  house. 
During  her  two  years'  residence  in  San 
Francisco  she  and  her  husband  had  occu- 
pied apartments  in  a  semi-private  hotel. 
Now,  to  find  a  house  to  suit  her,  and  be 
within  her  means,  became  the  haunting  oc- 
cupation of  her  life.  After  three  weeks 
of  search  she  gave  up  the  idea  of  being 
suited,  and  the  question  narrowed  down 
to  something  that  would  possibly  do.  Eent 
agencies  were  her  daily  haunts.  The  clerks 
thereof  came  to  know  her  and  wanted  to 
run  and  hide  when  she  came  in. 

At  last,  in  sheer  desperation  and  weari- 
ness of  body,  she  chose  a  house  on  a 
"twenty  minutes'  walk"  recommendation, 
and  an  assurance  from  the  agent  that  he 
would  be  most  obliging  in  the  matter  of 
repairs  and  sundry  coats  of  calcimine. 

The  morning  following  her  decision, 
Mrs.  Hill  visited  the  place  again.  This 
time  she  was  unpleasantly  impressed  with 
the  nearness  of  a  dilapidated  little  house 
on  the  west  side,  and  a  double  flat  on  the 
east  side.  She  had  been  so  weary  the  day 
before  that  these  details  escaped  her,  in 
view  of  the  fact  that  the  house  itself  pre- 
sented as  few  objectionable  features  as 
any  she  had  examined. 

"Dear  me/'  she  sighed,  "I  hope  the 
people  in  the  flats  will  not  have  more  than 
half  a  dozen  children  to  each  family." 

"They  are  very  nice  people,"  assured 
the  agent  soothingly. 

"Possiblv,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Hill,  wearily, 
"but  that  is  no  guarantee  against  large 
families  of  small  children." 

As  they  made  a  tour  of  the  west  rooms, 
Mrs.  Hill  again  noticed  the  dilapidated 
cottage  on  that  side. 

"That  place  is  vacant,"  she  observed. 


"I  do  hope  when  it  is  let  only  quiet  people 
will  live  there." 

"I  am  sure  you  will  find  this  a  very  de- 
sirable neighborhood,"  rejoined  the  agent, 
with  a  slightly  aggrieved  air. 

"I  hope  so,"  sighed  Mrs.  Hill. 

At  any  rate,  to  hope  for  the  best 
was  all  she  could  do  now,  and  the  work  of 
preparing  the  house  and  furnishing  it  be- 
gan and  went  briskly  forward  for  a  week 
or  ten  days. 

In  the  matter  of  cheap  pianos  and  child- 
ren the  double  flats  proved  less  of  a  nui- 
sance than  Mrs.  Hill's  fears  had  antici- 
pated, and  it  was  with  a  feeling  of  real 
satisfaction  that  she  began  to  settle  in 
her  new  home. 

"I  like  it  much  better  than  the  hotel," 
she  confided  to  Mr.  Hill  one  morning  at 
breakfast. 

"I  always  told  you  that  you  would,  if 
you  would  only  try  it,"  was  the  husbandly 
rejoinder. 

"I  don't  remember  your  saying  anything 
of  the  kind,"  answered  Mrs.  Hill. 

Then  Mr.  Hill  cast  some  reflections  up- 
on the  unreliability  of  a  woman's  memory, 
which,  in  turn,  brought  forth  an  acrimo- 
nious retort  from  Mrs.  Hill,  and  the  re- 
sult was  a  smart  tiff.  When  Mr.  Hill  left 
the  house,  he  shut  the  front  door  with 
a  bang  that  demonstrated  that,  after  all, 
a  home  is  never  really  a  home  unless  it 
connects  directly  with  a  front  door. 

Mrs.  Hill  was  too  self-centered  to  be 
more  than  temporarily  unsettled  by  a 
domestic  difference,  but  nevertheless,  the 
disagreement  ihad  its  aftermath.  This 
came,  first,  paradoxically  enough,  in  the 
form  and  likeness  of  a  beauty-doctor. 

Mr.  Hill  was  a  man  of  decided  preju- 
dices, but  "prejudice"  is  far  too  mild  a 
word  to  apply  to  his  utter  detestation  of 
this  feminine  humbug.  Mrs.  Hill  was 


78 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


abundantly  aware  of  his  attitude,  and  up 
to  then  had  respected  it,  not  so  much,  it 
must  be  admitted,  from  a  sense  of  wifely 
duty  as  from  the  circumstance  of  having 
an  exceptionally  fine  complexion,  bright 
eyes  and  beautiful  hair. 

But  the  past  strenuous  month  had  told 
on  her.  Miles  of  hard  pavement,  more 
miles  of  noisy,  wearisome  street-car  rid- 
ing, had  combined  to  haggard  her.  As 
she  raised  the  window  shades,  letting  in 
a  harsh  glare  of  sun,  she  caught  a  view 
of  herself  in  the  sideboard  mirror  and 
noted  the  pallor  of  her  complexion  and 
dullness  of  eye.  Peering  in,  she  discovered 
with  a  shock  two  tiny  wrinkles  under  her 
eyes,  and  another  threatening  her  neck. 
To  look  old  Mrs.  Hill  considered  the  most 
terrible  affliction  that  life  could  possibly 
hold  for  any  woman.  Owing  to  a  good 
constitution  and  a  life  of  comparative  ease 
she  had  so  far  preserved  herself  from 
alarming  symptoms  of  age;  therefore,  she 
was  all  the  more  overcome  by  these  signs 
of  advancing  age. 

It  was  at  this  psychological  moment 
that  the  doorbell  rang,  and  the  maid 
brought  Mrs.  Hill  a  card  bearing  the  le- 
gend: "Mme.  Loraine,  representing  Mme. 
Lippette,  dermatologist;  facial  blemishes 
successfully  removed;  traces  of  age  ob- 
literated ;  consultation  free." 

What  took  place  at  the  interview  be- 
tween Mrs.  Hill  and  the  representative  of 
Mme.  Lippette  would  not  have  been  hard 
to  guess  the  next  day  as  Mrs.  Hill  stood 
before  a  small  cabinet  and  carefully 
placed  therein  one  large  bottle  containing 
a  whitish  liquid;  one  medium-size  bottle 
of  pink  buttermilk  appearance;  one  fat 
tin  box  of  grease;  one  squatty  white  jar 
of  pomade;  a  package  of  medicated  cha- 
moise,  and  last,  a  flat,  small  box,  con- 
taining a  limp,  crawly  little  square,  to 
which  was  attached  four  little  tapes.  It 
was  a  Face  Beauty  Mask.  Mrs.  Hill  took 
it  out  and  gingerly  unfolded  it.  As  she 
spread  it  lightly  over  her  face  and  looked 
at  the  effect  in  the  glass,  she  did  have  a 
vision  of  Mr.  Hill  when  he  should  come 
to  kiss  her  good-night. 

"Gracious  me !  I  wouldn't  blame  Dutch 
a  bit  for  getting  a  divorce  if  he 
should  see  me  with  this  thing  on.  I  will 
have  to  take  my  treatments  and  wear  it 
some  time  during  the  day  while  he  is 
down  town.  It  would  be  a  crime  for  any 


woman  to  let  her  husband  see  her  lookin* 
like  this." 

This  was  the  day  after  the  tiff,  and 
Mr.  Hill  had  brought  home  theatre  tick- 
ets and  a  new  fan  for  his  wife  the  evening 
before  as  a  peace-offering,  and  harmony 
was  once  more  restored.  So  Mirs.  Hill 
locked  the  cabinet  door,  and  instead  of 
boldly  presenting  the  bill  for  the  beauty 
paraphernalia,  as  she  had  intended  doing, 
she  took  the  more  pacific  course  of  charg- 
ing it  up  to  housekeeping  sundries,  and 
keeping  her  transactions  with  the  blonde 

dermatologist  a  secret  from  her  husband 
*  *  *  * 

It  was  perhaps  a  week  later  as  she  lay 
in  bed  late  one  morning  that  she  gradu- 
ally became  aware  of  an  odd  bustle  and 
a  wordy  vibration  without  her  west  win- 
dow. The  sounds  were  singularly  choppy 
and  unintelligible.  They  were  accompan- 
ied by  slamming  of  doors  and  banging 
of  heavy  articles.  She  arose  and  looked 
out.  What  she  saw  filled  her  with  amaze- 
ment and  anger.  The  dilapidated  little 
house  so  near  her  west  window  was  inhab- 
ited. Its  tenants  were  scurrying  here  and 
there  in  night-shirt-looking  garb  and  san- 
daled feet.  Pigtails  of  varying  length 
and  glossiness  switched  and  undulated  as 
they  moved  and  chattered.  They  ap- 
peared like  a  colony  of  insects,  each  intent 
on  some  individual  task,  and  yet  all  work- 
ing together.  Before  the  steps  stood  a 
black-covered  wagon  and  a  bony,  rat- 
tailed  horse.  Over  the  door  was  already 
inscribed :  "Yip  Hung,  Hand  Laundry." 

At  the  window  directly  opposite  Mrs. 
Hill,  and  into  which  she  bent  her  aston- 
ished and  wrathful  gaze,  stood  a  gaunt 
Chinaman  in  a  white,  scant  garment,  bare 
legs  and  sandaled  feet,  busy  at  an  ironing 
board.  Verily,  a  full-fledged  laundry  had 
sprung  up  in  the  night  and  was  now  in 
operation. 

"This  is  an  outrage !"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Hill.  "I  shall  speak  to  the  agent  about  it 
at  once!" 

The  agent  was  attentive  and  full  of 
sympathy,  and  promised  to  do  what  he 
could.  But  the  next  day  when  she  called 
again,  he  expressed  his  sorrow  that  ha 
was  unable  to  influence  the  unworthy  citi- 
zen who  owned  and  rented  that  particular 
little  house. 

"Everybody  ought  to  move  off  the 
block!"  angrily  opined  Mrs.  Hill. 


THE  TANGENT  OF  A  TIFF. 


79 


The  agent  gave  a  shrug  indicative  of 
the  futility  of  such  a  course. 

"Such  a  thing  is  possible  to  occur  any- 
where in  San  Francisco/'  he  commented. 

Thereafter  Mrs.  Hill's  life  became  one 
great  protest  directed  against  things  in 
general,  and  one  fat,  placid,  sphynx-like 
Yip  Hung  in  particular.  She  felt  anew 
a  sense  of  outrage  every  time  she  looked 
out  of  the  west  windows.  Now  and  then 
strong  whiffs  of  opium  smoke  and  gushes 
of  steam  rose  up  to  her  angry  nostrils. 
At  such  times,  it  but  added  fuel  to  the 
flame  to  see  Yip  Hung  sitting  on  a  box 
in  the  middle  of  the  room,  drawing  deep, 
contented  puffs  from  a  long-stemmed  pipe, 
serene,  prosperous,  giving  one  an  impres- 
sion of  an  immense,  sleepy,  fat,  motionless 
spider. 

On  Sundays  another  exasperating  fea- 
ture obtruded  itself  on  the  west  view.  It 
was  the  shady  side  of  Yip's  laundry,  and 
a  long  line  of  Celestials  would  come  out 
and  sit  there  the  live-long  afternoon  and 
comb  and  queue  their  hair. 

In  spite  of  Mrs.  Hill's  baneful  looks 
and  ill  wishes,  Yip  Hung's  laundry  throve 
and  prospered,  and  ever  and  anon  a  new 
ironing  board  was  added.  In  time,  it  re- 
quired two  black  covered  wagons  to  con- 
vey the  laundry,  and  Yip  Hung,  full  of 
peace  and  plenty,  daily  grew  fatter  and 
richer. 

After  a  period  of  this  tranquil  prosper- 
ity, the  tide  turned.  It  may  have  been 
that  Yip  was  forgetting  his  gods;  it  may 
have  been  an  ill  luck  in  that  in  his  greed 
for  American  dollars,  Yip  ground  his  poor 
workers  down  to  a  point  that  forbade  bod- 
ily nourishment,  and  for  this  cause  Li  Wo 
quite  suddenly  fell  down  beside  his  iron- 
ing board  one  hot  day  and  quite  as  sud- 
denly died. 

This  untoward  incident  necessitated  a 
total  suspension  of  operation  in  the 
laundry  for  at  least  twenty-four  hours,  for 
though  callous  indeed  had  prosperity 
made  him,  Yip  would  not  defy  the  tradi- 
tional superstition  that  one  must  allow  a 
spirit  time  to  take  a  leisurely  departure 
from  the  scene  of  its  labors,  from  whence 
it  is  unable  to  go  as  long  as  its  customary 
work  is  being  performed  by  others.  So 
the  fire  died  down,  and  most  of  the  work- 
ers went  off  to  Chinatown  and  others  went 
to  bury  the  dead.  Yip  waddled  about  the 
deserted  ironing  room,  feeling  ill-used 


and  cursing  his  luck.  He  paused  in  front 
of  the  mantel,  and  stood  observing  him- 
self sulkily  in  the  stationary  mirror  built 
above  the  shelf. 

So  stood  Yip;  and  his  thoughts  were 
upon  his  tribulation.  Suddenly,  like  a 
flash— a  wink — there  lept  into  the  clear 
surface  of  the  mirror  a  terrible  face.  A 
most  terrifying  face.  A  ghastly,  dead  face 
from  which  rolled  two  eyes  like  balls  of 
fire !  A  horrible  dead  face  without  a 
body. 

Yip  gave  a  strangled  scream,  and  as  the 
face  did  not  vanish,  he  screamed  again, 
and  sank  down  from  sheer  weakness  of 
terror,  and  hid  his  face  in  his  flapping 
sleeves. 

From  that  day  disaster  pursued  Yip 
Hung.  Evil  days  fell  upon  him.  Valuable 
pieces  of  wash  became  variously  miscar- 
ried. Several  aggrieved  customers  took 
away  their  patronage.  Others  threatened 
arrest  if  the  missing  articles  were  not 
produced.  Some  refused  to  pay  for  large 
washes  from  which  alleged  articles  were 
missing,  but  gave  him  additional  large 
washes  for  which  he  sadly  suspected  he 
would  likewise  get  no  pay.  Families 
moved  out  of  his  ken,  leaving  from  two 
to  five  weeks'  bills  unpaid.  His  helpers 
struck  for  higher  pay. 

It  was  a  chastened  Yip  who  sat  draw- 
ing long  puffs  from  his  long  stem  pipe  one 
afternoon  some  three  weeks  after  that 
terrible  day.  Since  the  incident  of  the 
awful  dead  face,  Yip  had  kept  a  cloth 
pinned  across  the  mirror.  Now  as  his 
dull  gaze  rested  unseeingly  on  the  cloth, 
quickly,  as  if  an  unseen  hand  had  snatched 
it  loose,  the  cloth  dropped  from  a  dis- 
lodged pin  at  one  end.  Yip  uttered  a 
hoarse  cry  and  half  arose,  pointing  a  pal- 
sied finger  at  the  undraped  glass.  A  dozen 
pairs  of  startled,  beady  eyes  followed  the 
movement.  They  saw  nothing  save  the  re- 
flection of  the  ugly  wall,  the  door  space, 
the  stove  pipe,  and  their  own  yellow  vis- 
ages. Nothing  unnatural  in  that.  Noth- 
ing to  so  agitate  their  placid  boss.  In 
obedience  to  a  hoarse  command  to  replace 
the  cloth,  half  a  dozen  of  them  sprang 
toward  the  mantel.  Lo !  In  that  second 
flashed  out  and  faced  them — the  dead 
face! 

Every  Chinaman  in  the  room  had  a 
glimpse  of  the  horrible  thing  as  it  hung 
a  moment  and  then  vanished. 


80 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


Twice  more,  even  before  the  terrified 
workers  could  make  a  move,  it  flashed 
back  and  re-vanished.  Then  like  possessed 
creatures,  the  Chinese  clung  together  and 
chattered  like  monkeys. 

Oh,  that  ghastly  face!  Its  living  eyes! 
Its  awful  dead  flesh. 

Some  of  them  fled  without  ceremony. 
Others  fell  to  the  floor  calling  upon  the 
gods — among  them  Yip. 

An  hour  later,  Mrs.  Hill  heard  an  un- 
common activity  among  her  detested 
neighbors,  and  went  to  the  west  window 
to  look  out.  What  was  her  astonishment 
to  see  half  a  dozen  Chinamen  tumbling 
things  out  of  the  house  in  a  conglomera- 
tion, while  another  lot  of  Chinese  gath- 
ered them  up  and  pitched  them  promis- 
cuously and  frantically  into -the  two  laun- 
dry wagons.  In  less  than  an  hour  more, 


the  last  queue,  the  last  ironing  board,  had 
vanished. 

"It  looked  like  some  forcible  eject- 
ment," commented  Mrs.  Hill  to  Mr.  Hill 
that  night  at  dinner.  "But  thank  Heaven, 
they  are  out!  I  wonder  what  the  next 
will  be.  It  can't  be  worse,  that's  one  con- 
solation." 

The  next  day — now  no  longer  having 
a  prejudice  against  sitting  by  the  west 
windows — Mrs.  Hill  re-arranged  her  west 
chamber  furniture,  and  in  doing  so,  she  de- 
stroyed the  angles  the  other  position  had 
created  with  the  mirrors  in  her  room, 
that,  by  the  aid  of  a  hand  mirror — occa- 
sionally held  in  a  certain  position — had 
thrown  her  reflection  across  the  way  into 
Yip  Hung's  mirror  when  she  sat  at  her 
dressing  table  taking  her  treatment  and 
wearing  her  beauty-mask. 


BY  EMMA  PLAYTER  SEABURY 

Morning — a  daisy  field,  ripples  of  laughter, 
Children  asport  like  the  fairies,  with  flowers. 

Bobolinks  bubbling  their  melodies  after, 

Childhood  and  beauty  engarland  the  hours. 

Gold  and  white  daisies,  tinted  with  clover, 

Sky  of  azure,  an  afternoon ; 
Clouds  like  foam  flakes  nickering  over, 

Balm  and  breath  of  the  fragrant  June; 

Merry  groups  in  the  ambient  glory, 
'Scattering  leaves  of  the  daisy,  in  glee, 

Telling  each  other,  the  sweet  old  story, 
"He  loves,  she  loves,  or  he  loves  not    me." 

Daisy  field  in  the  dusky  gloaming, 
Evening  star  and  the  late  birds'  trill, 

Groups  of  twos  in  the  daisies  roaming, 
Telling  the  sweet  old  story  still. 

Hush  and  the  moon,  and  the  soft  June  weather, 
Daisies  and  clover,  and  summer  and  dream, 

Souls  drifting  out  to  the  future  together, 
With  sails  of  gossamer-love  supreme. 


BY    ALFRED    DAVIS 


DEATH  Valley  is  ugly,  ugly  and  ut- 
terly desolate.  Cactus  and  sand, 
sand  and  cactus  as  far  as  the  eye 
can  reach,  to  the  north,  to  the  south,  to 
the  east  and  to  the  west.  Not  a  single 
tree  or  green  bush  is  there  in  all  that 
dreary  waste  to  vary  the  great  monotony. 
The  sun  above,  usually  riding  in  a  clear 
sky,  pours  down  its  fiercest  rays  upon  the 
sun-baked  plain  with  unrelenting  force. 
Here  and  there  a  rattlesnake  lies  stretched 
out  in  the  torrid  sand,  while  now  and  then 
a  skinny  prairie  dog  will  pop  up  from  the 
yellow  dirt  and  then  dart  down  again 
with  the  rapidity  of  lightning.  Once  in  a 
while  a  buzzard  wheels  its  dizzy  flight 
along  the  misty  horizon.  Save  for  these 
no  signs  of  life  are  found  in  all  that  vast 
solitude. 

Far  to  the  north  a  great  cloud  of  dust 
might  have  been  seen  on  a  certain  day  in 
mid-summer,  hurrying  along  before  a 
breath  of  wind,  lost  probably  in  that  deso- 
late land.  Out  of  the  cloud  as  it  swept 
.over  the  brow  of  a  hill,  the  form  of  a 
man  appeared  outlined  against  the  deep 
blue  sky.  He  paused  on  the  crest  and 
seated  himself.  A  tall  fellow  he  was, 
dressed  in  a  manner  typical  of  the  place, 
calculated  to  render  the  heat  bearable, 
while  his  searching  eyes  that  looked  out 
from  two  narrow  slits  bespoke  the  fron- 
tiersman, through  and  through.  He  sur- 
veyed the  barren  stretch  before  him  with 
the  easy  manner  of  one  familiar  with  the 
scene,  and  as  his  eye  roved  over  the  plain 
it  rested  upon  a  dark  spot  which  seemed 
to  be  emanating  from  the  haze  of  the  west- 
ern horizon. 

The  figure  moved  irregularly,  frequent- 
ly pausing  as  if  bewildered,  then  again 
moving  on,  on,  until  coming  to  another 
abrupt  pause. 

"A  man,"  thought  the  plainsman,  "a 
man  as  sure  as  hell,  and  coming  from  the 
Funeral  hills."  And  as  he  started  down 
the  hill  in  the  direction  of  the  traveler, 
he  cursed  the  creature  for  a  fool  thus  to 
tempt  the  Almighty. 


The  wanderer,  his  head  bent  toward  the 
ground  and  his  eyes  red  and  blistered  from 
the  intense  heat,  stumbled  on,  now  in  one 
direction,  then  in  another,  as  if  uncertain 
of  his  way.  Then  of  a  sudden,  he  threw 
his  head  back  and  laughed  long  and  loud, 
but  the  laugh  ceased  when  he  beheld  the 
plainsman.  He  started  towards  him, 
mumbling  incoherently,  then  paused  and 
gazed  unsteadily  upon  him.  Again  he 
laughed,  wild  and  hoarsely,  and  broke  in- 
to a  tottering  run,  away  from  the  ap- 
proaching figure.  Finally  he  stopped, 
turned  again,  and  again  started  on,  but 
his  strength  seemed  suddenly  to  leave  him 
and  he  fell  face  downwards  in  the  sand. 

The  plainsman  rolled  the  wanderer  up- 
on his  back  and  pillowed  his  coat  beneath 
the  head  of  long  unkempt  hair.  Then, 
taking  a  flask  from  his  pocket,  he  poured 
the  contents  into  the  mouth  of  the  suf- 
ferer. The  eyes  opened  slowly,  as  if  in 
pain,  and  when  they  fell  upon  the  other's 
face  they  seemed  to  start  slightly,  then 
closed  again. 

"Which  way  was  you  head  in',  friend, 
before  you  got  mixed?"  and  the  plains- 
man repeated  his  question  twice  before  the 
feeble  answer  came. 

"Never  mind  me,  never  mind.  Let  me 
alone.  I'm  about  ready  to  pass  in  and 
there  ain't  no  use  of  you  staying  here.  You 
know  where  there  is  water ;  get  there  your- 
self ;  you  can't  take  me." 

"Sure,  I  know  where  there  is  water,'' 
and  he  gazed  closely  into  the  other's  face. 
"Water  enough  for  both  of  us." 

"But  ain't  you  Jack  Young?"  The 
eyes  of  the  other  opened  half  in  joy  and 
half  in  pain.  "There,  I  knowed  you  was. 
find  didn't  you  save  my  hide  a  dozen  times 
from  the  Vigilantes,  and  wasn't  it  you 
that  I  done  on  that  mine  deal?" 

"Never  mind,  Lou;  that's  ancient  his- 
tory, and  it  wasn't  all  your  fault.  Lou,  we 
will  call  it  square,"  and  as  he  tried  to 
offer  his  hand,  he  sank  back  again  into 
a  swoon. 

Lou  Tobin  stood  for  a  moment  looking 


82 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


upon  the  man.  "I  reckon  that  will  be 
quite  a  bit  of  a  pull/'  he  muttered,  glanc- 
ing at  the  sun.  "But,  Jack,  I  played  you 
dirt  once  when  you  did  the  square  thing," 
and  he  was  silent  again,  the  scenes  and 
days  of  other  years  crowding  fast  upon 
him. 

The  sun's  rays  beat  down  with  all  the 
intensity  of  their  force  when  Tobin  gath- 
ered the  mere  shadow  of  a  man  in  his 
arms  and  started  at  a  brisk  pace  across 
the  desert  in  the  direction  of  the  sunset. 
Hardened  as  he  was  to  the  toil  and  the 
heat,  yet  the  burden  caused  the  sweat  to 
fall  in  great  drops  from  his  face  and  hair. 
Now  he  would  fix  his  eye  upon  some  dis- 
tant knoll,  and  then  with  unceasing  effort, 
he  made  the  summit  and  again  his  eye 
caught  upon  a  sand  hill,  but  he  never 
allowed  it  to  survey  the  valley  between. 
His  feet  became  hot  and  swollen  and  he 
tried  to  spit,  but  it  was  a  failure  and  he 
smiled.  "I  reckon  this  would  make  a 
pretty  decent  grave  yard  for  Jack  and 
me,'  the  man  remarked  aloud.  "We  lost 
our  grub  stakes  here  and  I  ain't  been  do- 
ing much  more  since  then,  but  losing 
grub  stakes."  A  snake  rattled  ominously 
at  his  feet,  but  he  passed  over  it,  not 
thinking.  On,  on  he  traveled  until  his 
arms  became  cramped  and  he  had  to  pause 
in  his  way.  Depositing  the  body  care- 
fully upon  the  ground,  he  took  off  his 
hat  and  mopped  the  flowing  sweat  from 
his  brow. 

The  sun  was  still  to  live  some  minutes 
but  it  was  the  great  pile  of  black  clouds 
in  the  east  upon  which  Tobin  riveted  his 
gaze,  and  he  yelled  in  sheer  delight,  but 
the  cry  was  strangely  muffled  and  weak. 

"Bain,  damn  you,  Jack,  it's  rain;  do 
you  hear?"  but  the  man  heard  nothing, 
and  Tobin  looked  down  again.  "I'm  a 
fool,  Jack;  maybe  it's  rain  and  maybe  it 
ain't,"  and  he  raised  the  body  from  the 
earth,  but  the  burden  seemed  twice  its 
former  weight.  A  mysterious  haze  cov- 
ered the  landscape,  while  the  eastern  heav- 
ens were  a  mass  of  dark  and  rolling  clouds. 
Two  coyotes  followed  at  a  safe  distance 
behind  the  wanderers,  and  like  shadows 
stopped  when  they  paused  and  went  on 
again  when  they  continued. 

"You  ain't  got  no  soft  feet  to  deal  with 
here,  you  cyoteroes.  Git  out,  both  of 
you,"  and  Tobin  hurled  a  handful  of 
gravel  toward  them,  and  laughed  to  him- 


self when  it  fell  only  a  few  feet  from 
him. 

"I  reckon  we  better  wait  right  here  for 
that  rain,  Jack.  I  might  make  it  alone, 
but  I  don't  believe  I  would  find  you  here 
on- the  way  back.  I  reckon  we  better  wait 
for  the  rain,"  and  taking  a  piece  of  bread 
from  his  pocket,  he  ground  it  into  pow- 
der and  poured  it  into  the  mouth  of  the 
mat). 

The  haze  had  grown  thicker,  and  the 
sun  had  dipped  out  of  sight  behind  the 
hills.  A  small  pack  of  coyotes  squatted 
on  their  haunches  back  under  the  heavy 
clouds.  The  heat  was  most  oppressive, 
and  the  plainsman's  arms  were  strangely 
stiff  and  sore  while  his  tongue  was  grow- 
ing parched  and  dry. 

Suddenly  the  black  pall  was  rent 
asunder  by  a  great  blaze  of  light,  and  a 
deep  peal  of  thunder  rolled  over  the  soli- 
tude. 

"It's  coming,  Jack,  old  pard,  it's  coin- 
ing," and  he  turned  the  man  over  that  his 
face  might  receive  the  first  drops.  Then, 
rising  to  his  feet,  he  lifted  his  hands  in 
silent  supplication  to  the  great  storm. 

He  could  see  the  rain  falling  in  torrents 
above  him,  and  there  just  out  of  reach  it 
wasted  away  in  vapor.  .His  brain  was 
muddled  and  confused.  He  rushed  to  a 
little  rise  in  the  land,  and  there,  too,  the 
rain  seemed  only  a  few  feet  away,  but 
never  reached  the  earth. 

"'Damn  it  all,  can't  you  see  that  we're 
dying,"  cried  the  man,  again  raising  his 
hands  toward  the  tantalizing  clouds  that 
rolled  on  and  on  until  at  last  they  passed 
down  beyond  the  western  horizon,  and 
the  calm  twilight,  horrible  in  its  very 
serenity,  rested  upon  the  earth.  Without 
a  word,  Tobin  turned  back  to  his  friend, 
and  with  difficulty  raising  him  in  his 
arms,  he  struggled  on.  He  shook  his  head 
violently  when  an  unnatural  darkness  fell 
before  his  eyes,  and  once  he  paused  and 
gazed  intently  upon  the  sand  at  his  feet. 
He  sank  to  his  knees.  Yes,  there  rain  had 
fallen,  a  scanty  bit  indeed,  but  rain  had 
fallen  there. 

A  new  life  thrilled  him  as  he  struggled 
on,  and  the  sand  began  to  show  signs  more 
and  more  of  having  been  moist.  His  head 
was  bent  to  the  ground,  his  arms  were 
shaking  violently,  when  of  a  sudden  and 
without  realizing  it,  he  came  to  a  hill- 
top. There  in  a  basin  in  the  valley  below, 


DEATH  VALLEY. 


83 


a  pool  of  water  lay,  brightly  sparkling  un- 
der the  light  of  the  moon  that  had  now 
risen.  The  heavy  earth  clung  tenaciously 
to  his  feet.  Twice  he  fell  and  lay  for  a 
moment,  pressing  his  lips  to  the  damp 
earth.  He  pointed  to  the  water  hole  ahead. 
"Water,  Jack,  water.  The  old  frog-hole; 
you  remember  the  old  frog-hole,  Jack, 
where  you  held  'em  off  for  me.  Kemem- 
ber  the  time,  Jack?"  and  he  patted  the 
breast  of  the  man  as  it  rose  and  fell  like 
a  child's  in  sleep.  "But  never  mind ;  T 
almost  fergot  what  we  come  after,"  and 
he  tried  to  rise  to  his  feet,  but  the  burden 
was  too  heavy.  Again  he  tried  and  the 
struggle  was  continued.  Once  he  stum- 
bled on  a  cactus  bush,  and  fell,  the  need- 
les piercing  his  flesh. 

The  night  was  bright  and  sultry,  even 
for  the  valley.  The  pack  of  coyotes  fol- 
lowed noiselessly  a  few  yards  in  the  rear, 
but  Tobin  saw  nothing  save  the  water, 
which  sometimes  seemed  only  a  few  feet 
away,  then  fully  a  mile.  He  realized  how 
precious  each  moment  was  to  him,  but 
try  as  he  would,  his  stiffened  joints  re- 
fused to  obey  him,  and  his  arms  seemed 
to  have  been  pulled  from  their  sockets. 

Suddenly,  a  dense  darkness  came  over 
him,  and  he  fell  to  the  earth.  A  huge 
rattler  passed  over  the  prostrate  bodies, 
and  Tobin  watched  it  with  a  grin  of  ha- 
tred. <rWe  ain't  good  enough  fer  you,  eh  ?" 


the  man  whispered  huskily,  "but  we're  too 
good  fer  you,  you  sneakin'  devils,"  and 
he  shook  his  fist  at  the  pack  of  coyotes, 
the  silent  spectators  of  many  a  tragedy  in 
Western  life. 

Again  and  again  he  tried  to  raise  his 
companion,  and  again  and  again  he  failed. 
All  at  once  his  senses  became  most  clear. 
The  moonlight  bathing  the  landscape  was 
real,  all  that  vast  waste  was  to  him  as  it 
had  been  for  years  past,  and  there  ahead 
and  swimming  before  his  gaze,  lay  the 
frog-hole. 

He  tried  hard  to  get  to  his  feet 
but  sank  to  the  ground  with  each  effort. 
At  last  he  lifted  the  body  to  his  back,  and 
started  on  all-fours ;  a  painfully  slow  jour- 
ney to  the  hole.  Unseen  castus  pierced 
his  iiands,  and  one  was  so  badly  torn 
that  he  wrapped  his  hat  about  it. 

Foot  by  foot,  yard  by  yard,  he  lessened 
the  distance  to  the  water  hole. 

Again  the  deadly  black  was  coming  be- 
fore his  eyes,  and  his  breath  came  hard. 
He  tried  to  raise  a  hand  to  his  face.  The 
stars  seemed  shooting  in  fitful  showers 
about  him,  his  brain  became  confused. 
Then,  with  a  shudder,  he  pitched  forward, 
forcing  the  body  down  upon  the  sand.  The 
coyotes  cautiously  approached,  and  there 
about  them  set  up  a  lonely  howl  that 
shivered  back  and  forth  across  that 
mighty  solitude. 


BY    ALOYSIUS    COLL 


Look  on  my  studded  bulk  of  steel, 

The  dent  and  painted  scar ! 
Is  this  the  drab  intent  of  •wrath, 

The  shadowy  lust  of  war? 
Nay,  I  am  built  for  noble  peace, 

And  kings  have  given  me 
A  hoty  charge — to  guard  and  keep 

The  covenant  of  the  sea ! 


Look  to  my  tiers  of  mated  guns 

That  gleam  from  deck  and  port! 
Is  this  the  challenge  of  the  strong 

To  battle's  deadly  sport? 
Nay,  this  is  freedom's  ponderous  task — 

To  train  the  bold  and  brave, 
That  love  may  bloom  in  every  land, 

And  peace  on  every  wave ! 


My  voice  a  driven  thunderbolt, 

That  tyranny  may  hear; 
My  glance  the  flash  of  lighted  clouds. 

That  every  foe  may  fear; 
And  every  shell  that  blurs  the  targe, 

A  rainbow  on  the  sea 
That  winds  of  blood  shall  break  no  more 

Over  the  world,  and  me ! 


A  threat  in  every  port,  a  mute 

Volcano  in  my  keel, 
A  thousand  leagues  of  surging  foam 

I  fling  my  risk  of  steel: 
Yet  never  a  cannon  lifts  a  toast 

Of  water  from  the  barm 
But  drains  a  silent  pledge  of  peace 

To  every  gathering  storm ! 


Latin  and  Hun,  and  Turk  and  Don, 

Shall  crowd  the  far-off  strand, 
And  hear  my  thunders  preach  the  price 

Of  war  in  every  land — 
The  blood  of  sons,  the  mothers'  tears, 

The  woes  that  never  cease — 
And,  taught  the  awful  scourge  of  war, 

Will  keep  the  gift  of  peace! 


\ 

Presenting 
July's 

Actresses 

and 
Actors 


Miss  Marlowe  and  Mr.  Sothern  in  "Jeanne  d'Arc"  at  the  Lyric  Theatre,     Kew  York. 


go! 


Louis   James   as    "Falstaff"   in    "The   Merry   Wives   of  Windsor." 


Hall,   N.   Y.,   Photo. 


Aphie  James,  with  Louis  James. 


Aphie   James,    with   Louis  James. 


Geo.   Parsons,  in  "Daughters  of  Men,"   at  Astor  Theatre,   N.  Y. 

Photo  by  KIrkland   Studio,   Denver,   Colo. 


Charlotte    Tittell. 


BY    M.   GRIER    KIDDER 


MAKEIAGE,  without  divorce,  is 
condition  without  the  possibility 
of  change.  I  may  want  no  change, 
but  if  I  do,  I  want  to  know  just  where  to 
lay  my  hands  on  it.  As  the  Texan  said  of 
the  pistol :  "I  mout  never  want  it,  but  ef 
I  do,  I'll  want  it  wus'n  h 11."  Tell- 
ing my  wife  and  me  that  we  shall  live  to- 
gether unhappily,  is  giving  us  hell  to 
guarantee  us  heaven.  Marriage  is  a  con- 
tract, and  until  mortality  puts  on  infalli- 
bility, contract  without  reservation  is 
risky.  I  burn  no  bridge  spanning  a  river 
I  can't  swim. 

I  believe  in  the  "sanctity  of  marriage'' 
until  it  conflicts  with  the  sanctity  of  com- 
mon sense;  and  if  my  wife  and  I  cannot 
insure  sanctification  without  a  series  of 
mutual  bickerings,  we  shall  drop  sanctifi- 
cation for  separation.  Forbidding  divorce 
to  the  married  who  do  not  want  to  live 
together  is  as  absurd  as  forbidding  mar- 
riage to  the  unmarried  who  do.  As  to 
the  right  of  divorce  impairing  the  respec- 
tability of  marriage,  it  is  the  only  right 
that  marriage  wants  to  perfect  its  respect- 
ability. The  old  marriage  was  all  rite 
and  no  right..  A  proclamation  of  eman- 
cipation never  hurt  anybody. 

The  male  sex  is  the  oldest  trust  on  earth 
and  woman  has  ever  been  its  prey;  but, 
after  all,  slavery  is  more  to  blame  for 
tyranny  than  tyranny  for  slaverv.  Arro- 
gance rarely  comes  uninvited  by  humil- 
ity; meekness  is  an  eternal  invitation  to 
insolence.  Let  the  wife  keep  her  individ- 
uality, for  as  long  as  she  knows  that  the 
twain  that  became  one  can  become  twain 
again,  she  will  understand  that  "peace- 
able secession"  can  do  more  to  abolish 


slavery  than  '"war  for  the  union." 

Woman's  body  has  been  wrestling  with 
everything;  her  brain  with  nothing.  She 
proves  her  "domesticity"  by  the  size  of 
her  family;  her  "amiability"  by  her  meek- 
ness; her  "masculinity"  by  talking  sense; 
her  "unwomanliness"  by  "talking  back"; 
the  rudimentary  state  of  her  brain  by  her 
inconsistency.  Philosophy  may  be  "ad- 
versity's sweet  milk,"  but  the  solace  of 
famininity  is  tongue.  And  after  ten 
thousand  generations  of  tongue  have  sung 
the  lullaby  of  the  female  brain,  who  won- 
ders that  it  sleeps?  And,  mark  me, 
woman  will  be  a  "grown  child"  until  she 
asserts  her  equality  with  him  to  whom  she 
has  given  life.  Man's  most  difficult  task 
is  bearing  with  her  who  has  born  him  and 
giving  her  a  chance  in  the  world  into 
which  she  has  ushered  him  "with  the 
sweat  of  no  vulgar  agony  and  with  groans 
that  cannot  be  uttered."  He  who  stands 
by  her  in  that  holy  and  fearful  hour  with- 
out honoring  the  sex,  good  and  bad,  is 
one  "whom  it  would  be  base  flattery  to 
call  man." 

Of  course,  woman's  freedom  will  come 
and  be  followed  by  a  social  reconstruction, 
compared  to  which  our  political  recon- 
struction was  a  pleasant  surprise.  But  we 
shall  have  the  destructive  cause  before  the 
reconstruction  effect.  In  the  dark  days  of 
my  childhood,  "woman's  rights"  were 
man's  wrongs;  no  respectable  woman 
dared  to  seek  refuge  in  divorce.  Until 
lately,  I  abhorred  the  thought  of  divorce 
and  woman  suffrage,  but  I  have  changed 
my  mind.  I  may  rechange  it;  there  is  no 
telling  anything  about  my  mind  except 
knowing  I  mean  what  I  say  when  I  say 


96 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


it.  An  opinion  formed  on  impression 
may  justify  a  change,  but  when  anchored 
to  conviction,  nothing  but  mental  weak- 
ness condones  variety. 

Loveless  marriage  is  a  contract  to  peo- 
ple penitentiaries ;  an  incubator  for  hatch- 
ing idiots.  There  may  be  no  marriage  in 
heaven,  but  there  is  heaven  or  hell  in  mar- 
riage. I  object  to  any  union  that  counter- 
feits that  second  place  and  raises  the  devil 
and  children  together.  A  large  number 
of  marriages  are  mistakes  making  more 
mistakes.  If  you  have  been  foolish  enough 
to  make  a  mistake,  don't  be  too  foolish  10 
remedy  it.  We  hear  that  "divorce  dis- 
graces the  children."  Does  parental  squab- 
bling confer  especial  honor  on  the  off- 
spring? anything  particularly  elevating  in 
one  of  these  matrimonial  duets  whose  re- 
frain embraces  everything  from  flattery  to 
flat  iron?  What  do  you  expect  when  tyr- 
anny beerets  and  hate  conceives?  As  to 
knowing  each  other  before  marriage,  you 
cannot  do  it;  you  must  marry  and  pray 
that  the  introduction  be  not  too  abrupt. 

Experience  is  the  only  thing  that 
starves  simpering  sentiment  and  nourishes 
common  sense,  courtship  is  intoxicated 
theory:  marriage,  sober  practice.  And 
though  the  first  introduces  to  the  second, 
only  association  breeds  familiarity.  Until 
you  serve  an  apprenticeship  to  the  thing 
itself,  you  are  just  so  much  theoretical 
cross  trying  to  usurp  a  practical  crown.  I 
should  rather  be  chained  to  the  devil's 
grand-mother  with  a  cold  chisel  in  sight 
than  be  united  to  an  angel  with  no  possi- 
bility of  release.  Tying  me  is  tiring  me 
unless  I  can  shift  my  anchorage  when  the 
spirit  moves  me.  Better  hell  with  a  re- 
turn ticket  than  heaven  without  a  neces- 
sary furlough.  Whether  this  arises  from 
my  contrariness  or  my  love  of  variety,  I 
have  not  determined. 

I  do  not  want  marriage  to  die  out,  but 
I  want  several  to  die  out  before  marriage. 
Too  manv  marriages  mean  too  many  child- 
ren; too  many  children,  too  many  pau- 
pers; too  many  naupers,  everything  bad. 
Divorce  has  its  evils,  but  the  evils  of  lib- 
erty are  evils  trying  to  be  blessings. 
License  is  counterfeit  liberty,  overgrown 
freedom,  runaway  rights,  and  breeds  won- 
drous wickedness.  But  when  license 
springs  from  liberty,  that  very  liberty 
has  been  wrung  from  slavery.  To  prevent 
immoderate  liberty,  we  must  moderate  re- 


strictions; expansion  is  born  of  contrac- 
tion; revolution  is  only  evolution  making 
up  lost  time.  If  I  have  to  halter  my  wife 
to  guarantee  her  domesticity,  I  shall  1 
her  go.  Now,  along  comes  a  cer 
prominent  man  and  charges  the  socia 
evil  to  divorce. 

As  long  as  a  demand  for  anything  ex- 
ists, it  will  exist.  We  cannot  cure  this 
thing,  but  we  may,  in  a  measure,  prevent 
it.  But  sentiment  is  no  preventive;  there 
is  no  more  romance  in  this  curse  than  in 
the  poverty  that  causes  it.  The  soc 
evil  is  one  of  the  many  children  of  des 
tution;  its  mother,  poverty;  its  father, 
man.  The  "poverty,  not  .the  will,  con- 
sents." 

If  I  were  a  woman,  I  should  prefer  om 
divorced  husband  to  ten  children.  Until 
I  kept  house  and  did  my  own  cooking,  I 
laughed  at  woman's  trials.  I  thought 
"woman's  work  is  never  done"  because  her 
talk  is  not.  I  had  a  bed  room  and  a  kit- 
chen, and  the  more  I  cleaned  the  more 
they  needed  cleaning.  "Good  Lord,"  I 
said  to  myself,  "what  a  wise  provision  it 
is-  that  keeps  an  old  bachelor  from  having 
a  baby !"  Yet  how  many  women  cook  for 
a  large  family  and  keep  a  house  and  a 
half  dozen  children  clean.  The  majority 
seem  to  think  that  as  motherhood  is  sacred 
a  woman's  sanctity  increases  with  every 
baby.  Now,  I  don't  think  so;  I  think 
feminine  sanctity  neither  increases  nor 
decreases  with  children.  I  have  given  the 
matter  my  prayerful  attention,  and  I  be- 
lieve the  old  maid  is  just  as  abounding  in 
grace  as  the  sister  who  has  multiplied  and 
replenished.  An  abuse  is  dignified  by  age 
and  custom,  two  almost  invincible  allies. 
Most  folks  think  an  abuse  stands  b 
cause  it  deserves  to  stand;  when,  in  fa 
it  stands  because  they  don't  understa 
it.  True  veneration  halts  short  of  vene 
able  humbug.  Conservatism  as  natura 
opposes  the  new  as  it  revives  the  dying, 
resurrects  the  dead  and  baptizes  the  still- 
born; but  there  is  little  knee-crooking 
fore  the  healthy  recent. 

Divorce  is  woman's  new  and  onl 
friend ;  the  qnly  thing  that  arrays  itself 
on  her  side  without  design  on  her  pocket 
or  virtue.  And  she  is  beginning  to  see  it. 
Of  course,  when  that  idea  gets  fairly  into 
her  head,  it  will  feel  mighty  lonesome  till 
it  breeds  others.  It  won't  take  much 
abuse  to  make  the  coming  wife  the  goi 


THE  LAIR   OF  THE  BEAR. 


wife.  She  is  going  to  belong  to  herself; 
she  is  going  to  see  that  while  motherhood 
is  pretty  good  evidence  of  womanhood,  it 
is  not  all  the  evidence. 

Of  course,  the  improved  woman  won't 
be  perfect;  at  least,  I  hope  she  won't;  I 
have  no  fear  of  the  future  letting  loose 
upon  us  a  flock  of  wingless  angels.  But 
I  look  for  a  marked  change  domestically, 
socially  and  politically;  I  believe  that 
when  woman  has  the  power,  she  will  im- 
nrove  several  things  in  her  own  precipi- 
tate wav.  There  will  be  just  as  many 
mean  women,  but  fewer  meaningless  ones, 
less  sentiment,  less  nonsense,  too.  Of 
course,  for  a  time,  she  will  abuse  her  new 
liberty  as  much  as  she  abuses  spasmodic 
liberty  she  now  tastes  so  rarely.  But  her 
arrogance  will  be  only  the  temporary  re- 
action born  of  slavery.  She  will  act  like 
all  the  newly  emancipated,  till  familiarity 
with  freedom  teaches  her  that  doing  every- 
thing she  pleases  may  become  as  irksome 
as  doing  nothing  she  pleases. 

As  she  now  is,  I  should  rather  be  ruled 
by  old  Nick  than  by  her.  In  the  first 
place,  he  is  used  to  authority,  and  goes 
only  so  far;  then,  from  long  association 
with  him,  I  understand  him  and  can  to 
a  certain  extent  anticipate  his  wishes.  Be- 
sides, as  the  negroes  say  of  an  indulgent 
over-seer,  "he  gives  me  time  to  ketch  my 
breff."  But  when  a  <woman  starts  to 
drive.  God  pity  the  driven;  be  he  man, 
dry  goods  clerk  or  horse.  My  greatest 
pleasure  is  serving  a  woman  till  she  con- 
founds civility  with  servility.  Woman, 
has  little  sense  of  personal  responsibility, 
and  what  her  mind  finds  to  do  she  does 
with  all  her  tongue.  This  is  because  every- 
body takes  her  side.  Nobody  blames  a 
woman  for  anything  until  some  man  ruins 
her  character;  then  she  is  said  to  "have 
encouraged  him/'  Her  every  fault  is  the 
natural  and  necessary  result  of  her  out- 
rageous treatment;  her  virtue,  a  sweet 
flower  that  blooms  in  spite  of  it. 

As  to  honesty,  she  is,  when  dishonest, 
negatively  so;  man,  when  dishonest,  is 
positively  so.  Her  dishonesty  lies  in  keep- 
ing; his  in  taking.  Where  one  woman 
cashier  purloins  money,  fifty  men  cashiers 
do.  But  a  contract  signed  by  a  woman  is 
prone  to  sink  to  the  dignity  of  waste 
paper.  As  she  is  in  business,  so  she  is  in 
love.  I  have  tried  her  in  both.  She  never 
approaches  a  conclusion  gradually;  in- 


variably jumps  at  it,  and  he  who  would 
argue  her  out  of  an  "impression"  has 
more  time  than  judgment.  Her  convic- 
tion does  not  depend  on  the  logic  offered, 
but  on  the  receptivity  of  her  mind,  in 
love  she  must  be  carried  by  assault,  "flags 
flying  and  drums  beating."  Think  of  ar- 
guing an  indifferent  woman  into  matri- 
mony; reason  has  no  more  place  in  love 
than  mathematics  have  in  romance.  Do 
I  know  that  to  be  a  fact?  I  should 
smile !  I  have  always  attributed  my  sin- 
gle state  to  the  profundity  of  my  logic. 
Her  mind  is  all  anchor;  her  imagination 
all  sail,  and  the  mental  pap  that  nourishes 
the  infant  sustains  its  mother.  Her  brain 
has  been  digesting  trifles  so  Ion"-  that  a 
sound  idea  gives  its  owner  intellectual 
dyspepsia.  Her  mental  gastric  juice  is 
like  man's  moral  gastric  juice — somewhat 
diluted. 

No  breathing  thing  lacks  the  tendency 
to  tyrannize.  Strength  abuses  weakness 
as  naturally  as  rascality  bunkoes  foolish- 
ness, and  the  temptation  to  sit  down,  on 
something  soft  is  one  of  the  cardinal  char- 
acteristics of  human  nature.  Wioman  will 
as  certainly  equal  man  mentally  as  she 
now  surpasses  him  morally.  "Keep  her 
from  liberty  till  she  learns  to  govern  her- 
self" has  ever  been  the  slogan  of  tyrants, 
the  motto  of  masters. 

Slavery  as  a  preparation  for  liberty  sug- 
gests lying  as  a  kindergarten  for  truth; 
pocket-picking  as  a  <niarantee  of  future 
honesty.  We  Southerners  claimed  that 
God  started  negro  slavery,  as  a  necessary 
step  toward  the  conversion  of  the  negro. 
And  the  result?  Nine  hundred  and  ninety 
negroes  in  a  thousand  will  steal  and  all 
the  black  women  have  the  morals  of  white 


men. 


M:m  is  divided  into  the  caught,  uii- 
caught  and  afraid-of -being-caught,  and 
when  vou  hear  one  of  these  bepanted  ves- 
tals hurrahing  for  his  moral  reputation, 
attribute  it  to  "good  luck  rather  than  to 
good  company."  I  do  not  claim  that  a 
man  may  not  be  morally  pure  and  alive 
at  the  same  time,  but  what  is  the  use  of  be- 
ing anything  good  if  you  can't  make  folks 
believe  you  are  it?  Woman's  safeguards 
are  her  natural  purity,  her  training,  and 
the  merciless  penalty  following  her  trans- 
gression. That  divorce  imperils  these 
safeguards,  I  most  emphatically  deny. 
Simple  separation,  on  the  contrary,  with 


98 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


no  marriage  in  view,  I  hold  to  be  different. 
The  isolated  wife  occupies  a  position  pe- 
culiarly conducive  to  temptation.  Driven 
from  one  home  and  forbidden  another, 
she  is  a  social  exile,  a  domestic  queen 
without  a  kingdom. 

'Tis  to  such  as  this  that  desperation, 
that  fierce  consoler  of  the  friendless,  ap- 
peals. I  may  be  short  on  grace  and  some- 
what deficient  in  reverence,  but  I  hold  that 
a  divorced  person,  by  marrying  again, 
evinces  a  desire  to  profit  by  experience. 
That  good  children  may  come  from  dis- 
cordant parents  I  admit;  heredity  is  not 
infallible ;  the  son  of  a  cat  may  not  catch 
a  mouse.  I  presume  a  prize  puppy  may  be 
bred  from  two  mad  dogs.  But  when  such 
takes  place,  I  charge  it  to  reversion, 
rather  than  to  immediate  descent. 

As  to  divorce  tending  toward  free  love, 
you  might  as  well  charge  infanticide  to 
marriage.  The  anti-divorce  advocate 
looks  upon  a  fractured  marriage  as  just 
so  much  negative  adultery  ready  to  as- 
sume the  positive  phase.  I  remember  when 
divorce  was  considered  by  everybody,  but 
the  divorced  as  a  disgrace.  In  those 
days,  the  married  quarreled  until  death 
did  them  part;  whom  God  joined  together 
the  devil  himself  couldn't  separate.  Yet 
I  don't  believe  that  the  old  folks  were  bet- 


ter than  we.     Coerced  love  is  half  siste 
to  hate,  and  if  perfect  freedom  is  not  the 
essence  of  affection,.!  am  greatly  in  error 
Two  people  living  together  because  thej 
have  to  are  hardly  an  improvement  01 
two  who  won't  live  together  because  the 
don't  want  to. 

Divorce  laws  can't  warrant  moralit 
any  more  than  religious  persecution  cai 
guarantee  religious  unity. 

Thousands  would  to-day  be  good  hus 
bands  and  wives  if  they  had  remedied  ui 
happy  marriage  with   divorce     and     re 
marriage.    Is  marriage  so  sacred  that  tt 
correction  of  its  blunders  is  a  sacrilege: 
Should  any  contract  be  aught  but  a  roj 
of  sand  whose  stipulations  are  adverse 
the  happiness  of  the  contractors?    In 
judgment,  happiness  is  the  only  aim,  anc 
only  what  conduces  to  it  is  sacred.  Whereii 
lies  the  reason  in  legislating  two  people 
endowed  with  cat  and  dog  proclivities  int 
lasting  matrimonial     "bliss?"     Marrias 
should  collapse   with  the  love   that  su 
gested  it.     It  may  have  its  trials,  but  it 
should  not  be  a  trial.     Think  of  a  coupl 
priding  themselves  on  their  fortitude  h 
enduring  forty  years  of  married  hell  witl 
the  divorce  heaven  in  sight,  with  its  offer : 
"Come  unto  me,  ye  who  do  labor,  and  ai 
heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest !" 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    in    Writing    Advertisers 


USE      , 

PEARS 

.SOAP 


Pears'  Soap  is  good  for  boys  and  everyone— It 
removes  the  dirt,  but  not  the  cuticle  —  Pears' 

keeps  the  skin  soft  and  prevents  the  roughness 

* 
often  caused  by  wind  and  weather— constant 

use  proves  it  " Matchless  for  the  complexion" 


OF  ALL  SCENTED  SOAPS  PEARS'  OTTO  OF  ROSE  IS   THE  BEST. 

'*  All  rights  secured." 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    In    Writing    Advertisers. 


Delicate  Women -Delicate  Laces 

-BOTH  need  PEARLINE'S  help. 
LACES-because     PEARL1NE     cleanses 
SAFELY-QU1CKLY- Without  Rubbing. 
(WOMEN-because  PEARL1NE  makes  coarse 
things    Easily    washed   by    Delicate   women   and 
Delicate  things  Safely  washed  by  Strong  women. 
Ask  your  Brightest  neighbor  what  Washing  Powder 
i  she  uses.    Bright?— one  of  the  Millions  of  users  of 
Pearline. 


HAVE  unrivalled  camping  grounds,  in 
redwood  groves,  for  sale. 


HAVE  lots  for  residence  purposes,  in, 
ideal  suburban  Marin  County  loca- 
cations. 


HAVE  a  large  residence  in,  the  city 
of  Alameda,  for  sale  or  rent,,  18 
rooms,  suitable  for  residence,  hos- 
pital or  sanatorium.  Modern  in 
every  respect.,  easy  of  access,  large 
grounds,  with  garage. 


Box  B,  Overland  Monthly  Co. 


Many    Merchants 

have  our  goods  In  stocK 
but  you  may  not  readily 
find  them.  Send  order 
to  us,  then  you  will  re- 
ceive the  genuine 
"Goodform"  equip- 
ments  through  the  lo- 
cal merchant  or  from 
us  by  prepaid  express. 
Sold  singly  or  In  sets. 


TROUSERS  HANGERS  GOODFORM 
FLEXIBLE  CLAMP  FITS  THICK  OR  THIN, 


N0.32 


NICKEL 

PLATED 

25*    4FORI 


FOLDED  35*3FOR*I 


Get  the  Genuine  "Goodform1 

Constructed   for   you — to   give   order,    capacity  and   convenience   to    th 
over-crowded  closet.     How   have   you  done  without  this   so   long? 


'Goodform"     Set    for    Men. 
$4.50,  Delivered. 


'Goodform"    Set   for    Ladles. 
$3.00,  Delivered. 


6   Coat   Hangers,  No.  21,  adjustable 

6  Trousers    Hangers,    No.   41,   cloth       6  Coat   Hangers,  No.  21,  adjustabl 

lined.  6  Skirt     Hangers,    adjustable. 

1   each    Shelf    Bar    and    Door    Loop       1   each    Shelf    Bar   and    Door    Loop 
1    Shoe    Rail,    No.  27.  1    Shoe    Rail,    No.   27. 

Each  set  in   separate  box.   Sample  skirt  hanger  by  mail,   15  cents. 

Good  garments  need  good  care  or  money  is  lost.  The  new  skirt  i 
held  in  form  by  our  method.  Shoulders  of  coats  are  reformed  ever 
time  they  are  hung  up.  Trousers  are  creased  just  right. 


"This  closet  is  twice  as  big  now." 


Booklet  FREE.     Merchants  keep  the  goods.     Ask  for  "Good- 
form"  and  be  sure  you  get  it. 


COODFORM  SHOE  RAIL  N0.27  i 

PATENT  PENDING 


CHICAGO   FORM    COMPANY, 


761    Garden  City  Block 
Chicago.     U.  S.    A 


Please    Mention    Overland     Monthly    In    Writing    Advertiser*. 


xl 


Soups 

Stews   and 
Hashes 


See  that  Lea   £&,    Perrins'  sig- 
nature is  on  wrapper  and  label. 


are  given  just 
that  "finish- 
ing touch" 
which  makes 
a  dish  perfect,  by  using 

Lea  &  Perrins'  Sauce 

THE    ORIGINAL    WORCESTERSHIRE 

It  is  a  perfect  seasoning  for  all  kinds  of  Fish,  Meats,  Game,  Salads, 
Cheese,  and  Chafing-Dish  Cooking.      It  gives  appetiz- 
ing relish  to  an  otherwise  insipid  dish. 

John  Duncan's  Sons,  Agents,  New  York. 


BEWARE  OF  IMITATIONS 


LA  DAMASK. 

[Liquid  Rouge.  J 
Ask  Your  Druggist. 

Price,  25  cents. 

Esthetic  Chemical  Co. 

New  York. 


IRVING  INSTITUTE 

2126-2128  California  Street,  San  Francisco 

Boarding  and  Day  School  for  Girls 

CONSERVATORY    OF  MUSIC,     LANGUAGES, 
ART.    ELOCUTION.    ACCREDITED. 

Telephone  West  844 


ENAMELS 

Oak,   Cherry,   Mahogany,  Walnut, 
Rosewood  or  Transparent 


THE  HAMLIN  SCHOOL  AND  VAN  NESS  SEMINARY 
2230  Pacific  Ave. 

For  particulars  address 

cTWISS  SARAH  D.  HAMLIN 

2230  Pacific  Avenue, 
San  Francisco  Telephone  West  546 

The  Fall  term  will  open  August  12.   1907. 


FOK  OLD  OR  NKW  FLOORS,  FURNITURE  AND|WOODWORK 

Wears  like  Cement— Dries  over    night  with    Brilliant  Gloss.     Contains  no 

Japan  or  Shellac.     Write  at  once  for    Free  Booklet,  Color  Card  and    List  of 

Dealers.    TRIAL  CAN  FREE  [send  lOc  to  pay  postage]       Enough  for  a  Chair, 

Table  or  Kitchen  Cabinet.     ADDRESS:  "FLOOR-SHINK"  CO..ST.  LOUIS.  MO. 

Sold  by  Hale  Bros.,  Agents,  San  Francisco 
and  A.  Hamburger  Sons,  Los  Angeles 
If  you  are  a  dealer  write  for  the  Agency 


What,      School? 

WE  CAN  HELP  YOU  DECIDE 

Catalogues  and  reliable  information  concerning  all 
schools  and  colleges  furnished  without  charge.  State 
kind  of  school,  address: 

American     School     and     College      Agency 

384, 41  Park  Row,  New  York,  or  384,  3I5  Dearborn  St.,  Chicago 


I  HAVE  been  reading  the  "Reminis- 
cences of  a  Sportsman/'  by  J.  Par- 
ker Whitney,  and  I  have  enjoyed  the 
book,  for  it  is  more  entertaining  than  its 
title  would  indicate.  It  is  a  large  volume, 
printed  in  clear  type,  and  written  in  ex- 
cellent English.  Mr.  Whitney  is  more 
than  a  sportsman.  He  becomes  at  times 
a  philosopher  and  an  historian  of  no  mean 
merit.  The  book  possesses  the  additional 
advantage  over  books  by  sportsmen  and 
others  who  write  "nature"  studies  because 
it  is  written  in  the  language  of  a  man 
who  does  not  write  of  any  period  or  of 
.any  event  of  which  he  personally  has  no 
knowledge.  You  cannot  help  feeling  that 
•everything  that  Mr.  Parker  has  written  is 
truth,,  and  because  of  this,  some  of  the 
episodes  that  are  detailed  in  this  volume, 
and  which  might  be  garnished  with  much 
sensationalism  by  a  less  careful  or  con- 
scientious writer,  possess  a  remarkable 
charm  in  the  reading. 

Mr.  Whitney's  experience  has  ranged 
through  far  territories,  and  beginning  at 
a  time  when  little  or  nothing  was  known 
of  the  county  and  up  to  the  present  of 
which  we  know  so  much,  he  has  been  a 
leader  of  men  and  an  observer  of  events. 
Tales  of  these  men  and  these  events  he 
has  reduced  into  a  sort  of  autobiography 
and  this  is  the  volume  he  has  called 
"Reminiscences  of  a  Sportsman."  I 
should  say  that  the  book  would  form  one 
of  an  anthology  of  the  West,  and  its  de- 
velopment, and  while  much  that  is  there 
written  is  of  the  sport  of  the  wide  our- 
doors  that  much  is  merely  a  piquante 
sauce  to  make  the  rest  appetizing  to  tin 
reader.  I  have  read  many  books  of  travel 
and  have  rarely,  indeed,  found  a  book 
by  any  one  afflicted  with  the  "wander- 
lust" that  has  held  my  attention  through- 
out as  did  this  volume. 

Forest  and  Stream  Publishing  Co.,  N. 
Y.  1906. 

*  *  * 

The  Overland  Monthly  is  in  receipt  of 


the  Annual  Report  of  the  Smithsonian  In- 
stitution for  the  year  1906.  This  volume 
is  simply  an  index  to  the  work  done  by 
the  Institution  during  the  year,  and  a 
recapitulation  of  the  additions  made  to 
the  U.  S.  National  Museum.  It  is  is- 
sued bv  the  Government  Printing  Office. 
The  Treasury  Department  has  just  is- 
sued the  report  of  the  Life  Saving  Ser- 
vice for  1906.  We  find  an  extended  re- 
port of  the  work  of  the  life  saving  crews, 
located  near  San  Francisco,  during  the 
strenuous  days  of  the  great  fire.  There 
were  485  days'  succor  afforded  to  an  av- 
erage of  sixty-six  persons  a  day  at  the 
stations  at  Point  Bonita,  Fort  Point, 
Golden  Gate  and  South-side.  During  the 
nights  of  April  18th  to  21st,  there  were 
one  hundred  and  fifty  people  sheltered 
by  Keeper  Varney.  From  April  19th  to 
May  31st  the  station  at  the  beach  issued 
some  30,000  rations  for  applicants  for 
food.  The  life  saving  crews  mentioned 
were  of  great  service  to  the  city  during  the 
fire. 

*  *  * 

"The  Great  American  Pie  Company" 
is  one  of  those  little  skits,  the  product  -f 
a  brilliant  mind,  dashed  off  in  an  idle 
moment,  and  brimful  of  cutting  sar- 
casm, trenchant,  quiet  wit.  Ellis  Parker 
Butle^  will  be  accused  of  having  written 
the  story  for  the  purpose  of  belittling 
the  methods  of  some  of  the  very  top- 
heavy  industrial  concerns  in  the  country, 
in  their  attempt  to  "hog"  everything  that 
there  is  around  that  is  not  nailed  down. 
It  is  true,  the  comical  ending  of  the  great 
trust  does  not  carry  out  this  idea,  but 
it  is  full  of  fun  and  logic.  It  is  a  little 
bit  of  a  book,  printed  in  large  type,  and 
containing  only  fourty-four  pages,  but  :t 
is  worthy  of  thoughtful  consideration  by 
young  and  old.  It  is  illustrated  by  pen 
sketches,  by  Will  Crawford,  and  is  pub- 
lished by  McChire,  Philips  &  Co.,  N"ew 
York. 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    in    Writing    Advertisers. 


xl 


MODEL  M 


The 

"Strong  and  Steady 
—Always  Ready" 

Kind 


A   Summer's  Pleasure 

Almost  any  Family  Can  Afford 

This  applies  to  keeping  the  car  without  extrava- 
gance, as  well  as  buying  it.  With  a  Cadillac 
single  cylinder  car  the  whole  family  will  do  more 
traveling  than  you  could  afford  to  do  on  a  train, 
more  evenly  distributed  and  with  far  greater 
enjoyment.  Always  ready,  stanch  and  reliable, 
with  the  style  and  finish  of  the  higher 
priced  cars. 

The  Cost  of 
Keeping  a 


Shown 
by  1 47  Affidavits 

on  file  in  our  office,  runs  from  practically 
nothing  to  as  high  as  ten  or  twelve  dollars  a  month, 
but  averages  less  than  $2.50  monthly,  exclusive  of  tires. 
The  average  gasoline  consumption  runs  from  16  to  23  miles 
per  gallon  or  less  than  Ji  of  a  cent  per  mile  for  each  passenger. 
These  147  are  owners  of  single  cylinder  Cadillacs  in 
almost  every  state  in  the  Union. 

These  cars— either  touring  or  runabout — are  the  greatest 
combination  of  economy  and  efficiency  in  the  world.  They 
truly  afford  ail  there  is  in  motoring— except  the  troubles. 

Dealers  are  always  glad  to  demonstrate.  Fully  described 
and  illustrated  in  Catalogue  "MX,"  mailed  on  receipt  of 
-equ.-st. 

CADILLAC  MOTOR  CAR  CO.,  Detroit,  Mich. 


MODEL  K 


Mrs.    Helen     Freese 


For  many  years  with  the  S.  &  G.  Gump  Co.. 
has  opened  at  947-949  Van  Ness  avenue,  an 
establishment  which  will  be  known  as  the 
finest  Art  Galleries  in  this  section.  The  same 
attention  given  to  her  patrons  and  the  public 
in  general  in  the  past  will  be  a  feature  of  the 
New  Art  Establishment,  which  is  now  open 
for  exhibition  and  public  view. 

The  new  firm  are  direct  importers  of  Original 
Oil  Paintings,   Water  Colors,   Old   Prints,   Mar- 
ble  and   Bronze    Statuary,    Objects   of   Art,    odd, 
quaint  and  beautiful   things   not  to  be  found  in 
any  other  establishment. 

A  cordial  invitation  is  extended  to  the  public 
to  call.  A  feature  of  this  business  will  be  the 
taking  of  import  orders  for  any  Works  of  Art, 
Rugs,  Furniture,  Draperies  or  appointments. 
Resident  representatives  in  New  York,  London, 
Paris,  Vienna,  Berlin,  Florence,  Naples,  Con- 
stantinople. 

Our  buyer  sails  for  Europe  early  in  July,  and 
with  a  spirit  of  progressiveness  which  we  pro- 
pose to  establish  in  this  city,  any  of  our  clien- 
tele who  desire  us  to  execute  any  special  com- 
missions in  the  foreign  markets,  we  will  give 
such  orders  our  prompt  and  careful  atten- 
tion for  holiday  delivery. 


Volz  ®>  F  r  e  e  s  e 

947-949  Van  Ness  Avenue 


READY  FOR    THE  PRESS 

CHICAGO  GAVE  DWELLERS 

Not  for  Preachers 

320  Pages,  Cloth,  C  1.00 

POSTPAID         VI  = 

A  Story  of  the  Underworld 
and  the  Overworld 

By  Parker  H.  Sercombe, 
Editor    To-Morrow 
Magazine \  Chicago. 

Only  a  limited  edition  of 
this  remarkable  book  will  be 
printed.  Each  copy  will  be 
signed  by  Sercombe  Him- 
self and  automatically  num- 
bered from  1  up.  First 
orders  in  will  get  the  low 
numbers  in  rotation  except 
No.  1,  which  goes  to  Mrs. 
Sercombe. 

Address 

TO-MORROW  MAGAZINE, 

For  the  Superman  and  Superwoman  and  The  New  Civilization, 

2238  Calumet  Ave.,  Chicago,  III. 

10  CENTS  THE  COPY.  $1 A  YEAR.  4 


In  "Shakespeare,  England's  Ulysses," 
"The  Masque  of  Love's  Labor  Won,  or 
The  Enacted  Will,"  Latham  Davis  has 
given  the  world  a  wonderful  book  of  the 
works  of  William  Shakespeare,  Henry 
Willobie,  Eobert  Chester,  and  Ignoto,  all 
of  these  being  aliases  for  the  second  Earl 
of  Essex,  Robert  Devereux.  The  author 
wastes  no  time  in  useless  argument,  but 
presents  his  case  by  the  introduction  of  a 
vast  amount  of  documentary  evidence.  A 
careful  reading  of  the  works  presented 
disturbs  all  faith  Hn  the  authorship  of 
the  poems  and  plays  by  the  player,  Will 
Shakespeare  or  of  any  of  the  other  au- 
thors advanced  by  the  cryptogramic  evi- 
dence of  Donneley,  or  of  any  of  those 
others  who  believe  that  Bacon  was  the 
author  of  the  immortal  hard's  works. 
This  book  offers  more  food  for  thought  to 
the  investigator  than  any  of  the  many 
other  volumes  published  on  the  "mys- 
teries of  William  Shakespeare,"  and  comes 
nearer  to  convincing  the  sceptic  that,  at 
last,  an  author  capable  of  upholding  the 
dignity  of  his  own  reputation  has  been 
found  for  Shakespeare's  plays. 

Throughout  the  book  the  minor  chord, 
the  clandestine  loves  of  Elizabeth,  runs 
alluringly,  elusively  along,  and  spurs  the 
reader  to  a  quest  after  a  storv  that  is  lit- 
tle more  than  hinted  at  by  the  compiler. 

No  Shakespearean  library  is  complete 
without  this  remarkable  book,  and  no 
student  of  English  literature  may  count 
his  education  complete  without  having  a 
full  knowledge  of  the  contents. 

G.  E.  Stechert  &  Co.,  N.  Y. 

*  *  * 

"The  Shameless  Diary  of  an  Explorer'' 
is  an  unusual  book,  dealing  mainly  with 
an  account  of  the  recent  ascent  of  Mount 
McKinley,  and  it  may  be  called  a  fairly 
spirited  account  and  an  absolutely  frank 
record  of  the  happenings  of  the  journey. 
Nature  books  and  books  of  travel  are,  FS 
a  rule,  written  from  the  vantage  ground  of 
a  cozy  seat  in  some  comfortable  library. 
The  spirit  of  the  "trail"  may  be  found  m 
Mr.  Robert  Dunn's  new  book.  It  is  pro- 
fusely illustrated  with  splendid  photo- 
graphs taken  by  the  author.  There  is  a 
good  map  of  the  Mtount  McKinley  country 
as  well  as  a  sketch  map  showing  the  route 
traveled  from  the  coast. 

Outing  Publishing  Company,  N.  Y. 

*  *  * 

George  Alexander  Fisher,  who  is  a  stu- 
dent of  the^  question  of  the  eradication  of 


tuberculosis,  lias  written  a  very  interest- 
ing book  on  the  subject.  He  has  called  it 
"The  Labyrinthine  Life."  He  says  truly 
that  "the  white  plague,  tuberculosis,  has 
invaded  everv  family  of  this  country,"  and 
his  theme  is  the  exposition  of  the  life 
of  the  camp  in  the  desert.  He  advocates 
a  Government  camp  for  the  cure  of  the 
dread  disease.  He  says  in  his  preface 
that  he  wants  the  co-operation  of  the 
newspapers  in  the  work,  and  adds: 

"'Considered  solelv  from  the  economic 
standpoint,  such  a  project  as  above  out- 
lined would  pay  handsomely.  Under 
favoring  conditions,  such  as  could  .e 
brought  about  in  a  Government  camp,  a 
patient  in  the  earlier  stages  could  be  cured 
at  a  cost  of,  say,  $400.  If  left  to  himself, 
that  patient  would  require  at  least  $300 
from  some  quarter  before  he  died,  losing 
at  least  $2  per  day  because  of  loss  of 
work  besides.  A  lar"-e  proportion  of  the 
cases  are  voung  men  under  thirty.  Such 
a  man  if  restored  to  health  should  be  able 
to  make  at  least  $1,000  a  year  for  twenty 
years;  not  a  bad  return  for  an  investment 
of  $400.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  he  would 
pay  back  in  taxes  far  more  than  this  dur- 
ir-  his  subsequent  life." 

B.  W.  Dodge  &  Co.,  New  York. 


Paul  Elder  &  Company  have  just  pub- 
lished a  volume  by  Stanton  Davis  Kirk- 
ham,  author  of  "Where  Dwells  the  Soul 
Serene,"  and  "As  Nature  Whispers."  Mr. 
Kirkham  is  a  felicitous  writer,  and  does 
his  work  well  as  an  apostle  of  optimism. 
The  author  flings  defiance  to  the  super- 
stitious by  dividing  the  work  into  thir- 
teen chapters.  These  are  devoted  to  the 
subjects  of  Beauty,  Life,  Religion,  Phil- 
osophy, The  World-Message,  The  Heart  of 
It,  The  Tendency  to  Good,  Work,  Health, 
Happiness,  The  Preacher,  The  Teacher, 
The  Poet. ' 

Mr.  Kirkham's  is  a  sweet  philosophy, 
and  will  appeal  to  young  people  who  are 
just  stepping  out  into  an  untried  world, 
and  to  the  old,  who  would  desire  to  return 
to  the  illusions  of  the  age  of  adolescence. 
It  will  come,  this  book,  as  a  message  to 
all  of  the  unattainable,  the  known,  but 
not  the  seen,  the  wished-for  but  the  un- 
experienced, and  the  world  will  certainly 
be  better  for  the  uplifting  courageous 
prose-songs  of  this  master  optimist. 

Paul  Elder  &  Company,  San  Francisco 
and  New  York. 


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tight  when  hot.  Pays  for  itself  first 
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make  $1 .00  an  hour.  Sample  post- 
paid 60  cents.  Money  refunded, 
Big  Commission.  Information  and 
circulars  free. 


The  Selwell  Company, 

120  West  Jackson  Blvd.,  Chicago,  HI. 


A  Skin  of   Beauty  is  a  Joy  Forever. 
DR.   T.   FELIX   GOURAUD'S 

ORIENTAL  CREAM,  or  Magical  Beautifier 

Removes  Tan,  Pimples, 
Freckles,  Moth  Patches, 
Rash,  and  Skin  Dis- 
eases and  every 
blemish  on 
beauty,  and  de- 
nes detection.  It 
has  stood  the 
test  of  58  years, 
and  is  so  harm- 
less we  taste  it 
to  be  sure  it  is 
properly  made. 
Accept  no  coun- 
terfeit of  similar 
name.  Dr.  L.  A. 
Sayre  said  to  a 
lady  of  the  haut- 
ton  (a  patient) : 
"As  you  ladies  will  use  them,  I  recommend 
•Gouraud's  Cream  '  as  the  least  harmful  of  all 
the  skin  preparations." 

For  sale  by  all  Druggists  and  Fancy  Goods 
Dealers  in  the  United  States,  Canada  and  Eu- 
rope. 

Gouraud's  Oriental  Toilet  Powder 

An  ideal  antiseptic  toilet  powder  for  infants 
and  adults.  Exquisitely  perfumed.  Relieves 
skin  irritation,  cures  sunburn  and  renders  an 
excellent  complexion. 

Price,  25  cents  per  box  by  mail. 

GOURAUD'S  POUDRE  SUBTILE  removes 
superfluous  hair  without  injury  to  the  skin. 

Price,   Jl.OO  per  bottle  by  mail. 
FERD  T.   HOPKINS,   Prop'r,  37  Great  Jones  St. 
New   York. 


Bekins 


Von   and 
Storage 

968  Broadway,  Oakland 

Household  goods  shipped  to  and 
from  the  East  and  South  at 
reduced  rates. 


SAN  FRANCISCO 
LOS  ANGELES  CHICAGO 


Continental  Building  and  Loan  Association 


Subscribed  Capital 
Paid-in  Capitol 
Profit  and  Reserve  Fund 
Monthly  Income,  over 


of  California 
ESTABLISHED ;  1 889 

$I5,OOO,000 
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...  ...  2OO.OOO 

ITS  PURPOSE  IS 

To  help  its  members  to  build  homes,  also  to  make  loans  on  improved  property,  the  members  giv- 
ing first  liens  on  real  estate  as  security.  To  help  its  stockholders  to  earn  from  8  to  12  per  cent  per 
annum  on  their  stock,  and  to  allow  them  to  open  deposit  accounts  bearing  interest  at  the  rate  of 
5  per  cent  per  annum. 

Church  near  Market  St.  San  Francisco. 


George  Sylvester  Viereck,  author  of 
Nineveh  and  Other  Poems,,  was  born  in 
Munich,  December  31,  1884.  His  father, 
Louis  Viereck,  for  years  a  prominent 
member  of  the  German  Keichstag,  came 
to  America  about  ten  years  ago  as  the 
New  York  correspondent  of  a  Berlin 
newspaper,  and  is  now  the  publisher  of  a 
New  York  German  monthly,  "Der 
Deutsche  Vorkampfer."  His  mother, 
Laura  Viereck,  is  a  native  of  California, 
and  her  husband's  first  cousin. 

Coming  to  America  at  the  age  of  twelve 
A^iereck  attended  the  New  York  public 
schools  and  graduated  in  1906  from  the 
College  of  the  City  of  New  York.  In 
July  following  'he  joined  the  staff  of 
"Current  Literature,"  under  Edward 
Jewitt  Wheeler,  and  is  now  associate  edi- 
tor, conducting  the  dramatic  department. 

He  began  to  write  for  newspapers  in 
German  at  the  age  of  thirteen,  and  has 
contributed  a  great  deal  of  prose,  verse 
and  fiction  to  the  New  York  Staats  Zei- 
tung,"  as  well  as  to  the  Berlin  papers.  He 
continued  writing  in  German  until  three 
years  ago,  when  he  definitely  adopted  the 
English  language.  He  collected  his 
German  poems  in  1904  and  published 
them  under  the  title  of  "Gedichte."  The 
edition  was  a  very  small  one,  and  had 
little  sale,  but  it  instantly  made  him  cele- 
brated. His  genius  was  recognized  at 
once  .throughout  Germany,  and  to  a  less 
extent  America,  and  he  became  the  sub- 
ject of  many  articles  in  reviews  and  criti- 
cal journals  on  both  sides  of  the  sea.  He 
began  to  receive  personal  letters  from  men 
of  celebrity,  finding  himself  within  a  few 
months  after  the  book's  publication,  in 
correspondence  with  a  growing  circle  of 
rare  minds. 

Wtithin  a  few  months  after  the  book's 
publication,  the  celebrated  house  of  Gotta 
at  Stuttgart,  the  publishers  of  Goethe 
and  Schiller,  expressed  an  interest  in  the 
young  poet,  and  Ludwig  Fulda  took  the 
manuserint  to  Germanv  to  show  it  to 
them,  the  result  being  their  publication 
of  a  larger  work,  made  up  of  the  original 
book,  with  many  newer  ^oems.  This  ap- 
peared at  the  end  of  1906,  under  the  title 
of  "Nineveh  und  Andere  Gedichte,"  Mof- 
fat,  Yard  &•  Company,  of  New  York,  at 
the  same  time  having  in  preparation  the 
English  edition,  with  the  further  addition 
of  poems  written  originallv  in  English  for 
American  magazines.  The  first  American 
magazine,  by  11  u>  way,  to  publish  a  poem 


by  Mr.  Viereck  was  the  Century. 

In  the  autumn  of  1906,  Mr.  Viereck 
published  a  small  volume  of  plays  entitb; 
"A  Game  at  Love,"  and  there  will  appe, 
in  the  late  autumn  a  psychological  rci 
mance  of  a  very  unusual  kind  and  qu; 
ity.  All  his  books  will  be  published  sini- 
ultaijeouslv  in  English  and  German. 

Nineveh  and  Other  Poems  bears  the  im- 
print of  Moffat,  Yard  &  Co.,  New  York. 

*  *  * 

One  of  the  most  useful  of  the  Govern- 
ment books  issued  this  year  is  the  Officis 
Congressional  Directory.  This  book  cor 
tains  an  infinitely  large  amount  of  de 
tailed  information  of  value  to  the  general 
public.  There  is  no  branch  of  our  Gov- 
ernment upon  which  it  has  no  knowledge 
to  impart.  In  its  pages  may  be  found  a 
biographical  sketch  of  every  Congressman 
of  the  59th  Congress,  2d  Session,  as  well 
as  a  similar  list  of  the  Senators.  There  is 
a  complete  directory  of  the  Federal  Judi- 
ciary, and  a  list  of  every  foreign  represen- 
tative and  attache. 

*  *  * 

Another  very  valuable  volume  has 
reached  the  reviewer's  desk  in  the  shape 
of  the  special  reports  of  the  Census  Bu- 
reau, issued  by  the  Department  of  Com- 
merce and  Labor.  These  treat  of  "Wealth, 
Debt  and  Taxation."  It  is  hereby  sug- 
gested that  no  student  of  sociology  and 
practical  science  of  politics  has  his  li- 
brary complete  without  a  copy  of  this  ex- 
haustive statistical  treatise  on,  or  com- 
pendium of,  our  laws.  This  is  a  large 

volume  of  1234  pages. 

*  *  * 

"Prisoners  of  the  Temple"  is  a  path- 
etic story  of  the  children  of  the  unfortun- 
ate Louis  XVI  and  Marie'  Antoinette  of 
France.  It  is  to  be  translated  into  French 
by  the  student  in  that  tongue,  and  notes 
and  a  vocabulary  are  given  to  facilitate 
such  translating  work.  It  will  be  an  ex- 
ceedingly interesting  effort  to  the  pupil, 
and  valuable. 

Arranged  by  H.  A.  Guerber,  Boston; 
Published  by  D.  C.  Heath  &  Co. 

DIVIDEND    NOTICE. 

The  Cor.tinental  Building  and  Loan  Association. 
The  Continental  Building  and  Loan  Association, 
Market  and  Church  streets,  San  Francisco,  Cal., 
has  declared  for  the  six  months  ending  June  30, 
1907,  a  dividend  of  four  per  cent  per  annum  on  or- 
dinary deposits  and  six  per  cent  on  term  deposits. 
Interest  on  deposits  payable  on  and  after  July  1st. 
Interest  on  ordinar>  deposits  not  called  for  will  be 
Hdded  to  the  principal  and  thereafter  bear  interest 
at  the  same  rate. 

WASHINGTON    DODGE,    President. 
WILLIAM    CORBIN,    Secretary. 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly   In    Writing    Advertisers. 


xvii 


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TO 


NOME  AND  ST.  MICHAEL 


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The  watch  by  which  the 
hour-to=hour  progress  of  this 
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Used  by  men  of  action- 
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An  ELGIN  WATCH  is  the 
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Grades  differ — prices  differ, 
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The  Garden  Book  of  California  is  one 
of  those  indispensable  books  to  the  dweller 
in  the  country  or  the  city  who  is  a  lover 
of  the  beautiful,  of  flowers,  and,  in  fact, 
of  nature  in  any  guise.  Belle  Sumner 
Angler  tells  us  many  things  that  we  know 
already,  but  she  puts  them  in  such  a  for;-i 
as  to  make  them  attractive  to  the  most 
calloused  individual.  The  illustrations  of 
this  book  are  well  selected  to  fit  the  text, 
and  are  most  exquisitely  printed  on  li^lit 
buff  paper.  The  text  is  clear  and  large, 
and  the  language  is  simple  and  to  the 
point.  This  book  is  an  ornament  to  any 
librarv.  and  a  most  useful  household  ne- 
cessity. 

Faul  Elder  &  Company,  San  Francisco 

and  New  York. 

*  *  * 

Robert  Luce's  "Writing  for  the  Press,'"' 
the  eleventh  thousandth  of  the  fifth  edi- 
tion, is  a  handy  book  for  the  beginner  or 
for  the  writer  who  has  not  gained  his 
knowledge  through  the  hard  experience  >f 
actual  work.  It  is  just  what  its  name 
implies,  and  is  an  invaluable  aid  to  the 
newspaper  man,  the  would-be  author  or 
the  advertiser.  It  was  originally  written 
many  years  ago  when  Robert  Luce  was 
on  the  editorial  staff  of  the  Boston  Globe. 
It  was  meant  to  get  better  work  from  re- 
porters or  correspondents,  and  to  save 
time  all  along  the  line.  The  book  has 
grown  with  the  varied  experiences  of  the 
author  as  newspaperman,  editor,  pub- 
lisher, business  man  and  legislator.  It 
is  now  seven  times  as  large  as  at  the 
start. 

Clipping  Bureau  Press,  Boston,  1907. 

*  *  * 

Tho=e  that  love  the  great  outdoors,  with 
a  healthy,  every-day  practical  love,  cann  -t 
help  but  appreciate  the  book  that  Ernest 
McGaffey  has  just  given  to  the  reading 
world.  It  is  appropriatelv  called  "Out- 
doors," with  a  sub-title  of  "A  Book  of  the 
Woods,  Fields  and  Marshlands."  There 
are  several  chapters  on  fishing,  and  some 
few  on  hunting,  one  or  two  of  simple  de- 
scription, and  all  of  them  redolent  .>r 
woods,  marshland,  fields  and  lakes.  Mr. 
McGKffey  is  unusually  happy  in  his 
phraseology,  sometimes  reminding  one  »f 


Thoreau.     No  follower  of  Isaak  Waltoi 
no  disciple  of  Nimrod,  can  afford  to  pas 
by  this  book  of  real  experiences  without 
stopping  to  investigate  its  fine  claim 
recognition  as  an  authority. 

Charles  Scribner's  Sons.  New  York. 
*  *  * 

"The  Wonders  of  the  Colorado  Desert,"' 
by  George  Wharton  James,  easily  over- 
shadows all  other  volumes  published  on 
this  entrancing  subject  in  point  of  va.-t 
research  and  as  regards  illustrations  and 
text.  Mr.  James  has  given  us  a  text  book 
on  the  great  American  desert  that  is  * 
interesting  as  a  great  story,  an  epic  de- 
scription of  an  extraordinary  age  or  as  of 
some  poem  of  the  sagas  of  the  Northland. 
He  takes  you  along  step  by  step,  and  be- 
fore you  have  gone  far,  you,  too,  are 
chasing  the  mirage  of  the  Southwest,  or 
studying  at  close  hand  the  sensations  and 
emotions  of  the  desert  chuckawalla.  M,*. 
James,  in  these  two  volumes,  has  not  only 
given  us  a  truthful  description  of  the 
desert  and  its  people,  but  has  told  of  all 
the  natural  phenomena,  its  flowers,  its 
cactus  growths  and  the  story  of  every  lit- 
tle living  thing  that  grows  or  crawls  in 
the  arid  immensities  of  God's  forgotten 
land.  Fakers  like  Lummis  will  strive  to 
tell  you  of  the  desert,  but  these  men  are 
not  students.  James  towers  head  and 
shoulders  above  the  crowd  of  the  dilet- 
tanti that  have  attempted  to  paint  the 
glorious  colors  of  the  Colorado,  or  the 
grandeurs  of  the  Grand  Canyon.  Mon- 
sen  knows  the  desert,  but  he  is  no  such 
historian  as  George  Wharton  James. 
There  is  a  woman  prose-poet  in  Los  An- 
gele-5,  named  Strobridge,  who  knows  the 
unfathomable  mysteries  of  the  land  of  al- 
kali stretches,  but  she,  too,  is  no  student. 
She  is  a  mere  writer,  recording  in  fitting- 
ly weird  language  the  sensations  she  and 
others  have  felt,  when  confronted  by  the 
"I  forbid"  of  Death  Valley.  George 
Wharton  James  has  stopped  at  no  such 
denial,  and  his  knowledge  of  the  de.id 
land  where  so  much  there  is  that  lives  is 
as  sentient  as  life  itself.  He  ha  i  fathomed 
the  unknowable  of  the  illimitable  hori- 
zons of  sand  and  sage  brush. 

Little,  Brown  &  Co.,  Boston. 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly   In    Writing   Advertisers. 


xlx 


Save  $50  to  $100 
on  Your  Piano 

By  Taking   Advantage   of  Our   Special   Intro- 
ductory Offer 

It  will  surely  pay  you  to  get  full  particu- 
lars of  our  Special  Introductory  Offer  on 
our  high-grade  Lagonda  Pianos  before  you 
decide  upon  your  piano.  We  make  a  re- 
markable offer  because  we  want  an  enthu- 
siastic friend  in  every  city,  town  and  hamlet 
of  this  country  —  one  who  knows  and  plays 
the  Lagonda  Piano.  • 

We  sell  on  easy  monthly  payments,  covering 
one,  two  or  three  years'  time,  and  take  old  in- 
strument. in  exchange,  at,  liberal  valuation,  as 
part*  payment,. 


[THERE  ARE  NONE!! 

UUST  AS  GOOD' 

When  the  dealer  tells 
you  his  is  just  as  good, 
he  admits  the  superiority 
oftheKREMENTZ.  It  is 
the  standard  of  the  world. 

KREMENTZ 

SB?  BUTTON 

contains  more  gold  and  will 
outwear  any  button  made. 
EtJery  button  insured. 

It  stands  the  test  of  acid  and 
time  as    no    other   button 
will.     Quality  stamped  on 
back.     Be  just  to  your- 
self,    take     only     the 
Krementz.  All  dealers. 

Bookl.t    tells    all  about 
them  FREE. 

KREMENTZ  &  CO. 
24  Chestnut  St. 
Newark,  N.  J. 


"MAXIMUM    VALUE" 

Unquestionably  the  best  value  on  the  mar- 
ket for  the  money.  It  has  the  real  musical 
value,  sweet,  rich  tone,  that  always  gives 
lasting  satisfaction.  The  artistic  designs, 
beautiful  finish,  perfect  m  >jhanical  con- 
struction and  great  durability  appeal  to  the 
economical  purchaser.  Fully  guaranteed. 

We  can  sell  our  high-grade  pianos  at 
prices  lower  than  others  because  we  have 
the  finest  equipped  piano  factory  in  the 
world,  the  most  expert  workmen  and  a  com- 
pany made  up  of  the  largest  retail  music 
dealers  in  the  United  States.  Their  special 
piano  knowledge  and  experience  plus  ours 
make  it  possible  to  cut  down  our  manufac- 
turing and  selling  expenses  way  below  any 
piano  house.  The  saving  goes  to  you. 

Write  today  for  our  Latest  Introductory  Offer  and  large  illustrated 
catalog.  It  will  pay  you.  Send  now  while  it's  on  your  mind.  Yes,  a 
postal  will  do. 

SPECIAL  OFFER-  We  will  mail  you  FREE  a  set  of  three 
souvenir  postal  cards,  free  from  advertising,  for  a  two-cent  stamp.  Don't 
miss  this  offer. 

THE  LAGONDA  PIANO  CO. 

22nd  Street   and  J  Avenue,      New  Castle,  Ind. 


B 
B 
B 


c/4mong  the  foremost  manufac- 
turers to  welcome  the  pure  food 
law  is  Allen's  B.  B.  B.  Flour  Co., 
manufacturers  of  self-rising  Boston 
Brown  Bread  Flour  and  self-rising 
pancake  flour;  combinations  of  the 
most  nutritious  cereals  and  pure 
leavenings  and  prepared  especially 
to  meet  the  demand  for  pure,  clean 
food. 


FLOUR. 


All  Grocers 


Allen's  B.   B.   B.   Flour  Go. 

Pacific    Coast,    Factory,    San    Jose,    Col. 

—Eastern  Factory — 
Little  Wolf  Mills,  Manawa,  Wis. 


NUTS  WITH  KERNELS. 
WARWICK  JAMES  PRICE. 

A  bargain  is  often  the  euphemistic 
spelling  adopted  by  a  careless  spender  to 
name  a  silly  purchase. 

It  would  be  a  witty  world  if  every  one 
could  sav  at  the  right  moment  the  smart 
things  he  thinks  of  later. 

You  don't  mind  the  barking  of  your 
neighbor's  dog  so  much  when  you  have  a 
well -loved  puppy  of  your  own. 

A  guest  may  carry  away  an  umbrella 
from  your  hall,  not  because  he  is  a  thief, 
but  because  he  recognizes  it. 

It  is  graceful,  even  chivalrous,  to  kiss 
a  lady's  hand,  but  may  not.  such  a  kiss 
properly  be  snoken  of  as  out  of  place? 

Many  a  will  contest  ends  in  the  success- 
ful litigant  building  a  cottage — while  his 
lawver  builds  a  marble  villa. 

True  consideration  is  that  self-restraint 
which  enables  a  man  to  ignore  the  presence 
of  a  pretty  bride  and  her  bridegroom. 

If  it  be  true  that  the  average  of  honesty 
among  fat  men  is  higher  than  among  lean, 
may  it  not  be  because  the  stout  fellows 
find  it  harder  to  stoop  to  low  things? 

Few  men  can  be  cheered  from  depres- 
sion by  a  new  tie  or  waistcoat,  but  there  is 
seldom  a  time  when  a  woman  cannot  be 
distinctly  revived  by  some  new  and  pretty 
thing. 

Words  are  misleading.  An  autoist  may 
be  arrested  for  scorching,  and  yet  be  far 
from  warm,  while  it  is  no  proof  that  a  fel- 
low is  a  business  man  merely  because  he 
happens  to  be  in  business. 
*  *  * 

Matter  of  Funds. 

Salesman — Let  me  sell  you  this  coat, 
sir.  Yery  becoming  to  one  of  your  figure, 
I  assure  you.  Just  sold  one  like  it  to  a 
short  man.  Only  fifteen  dollars! 

Fuinches — Well,  it's  evident  that  he 
wasn't  as  short  as  I  am.  Show  me  a 
cheaper  one. 


Overlooked  the   Greater  Criminal. 
D.  w.  F. 

"I  see  that  thev  sentenced  the  fellow 
who  robbed  the  guests  at  that  summer 
hotel  to  five  years  in  the  pen." 

"Yes — and  let  the  proprietor  go  Scott 
free !" 

*  *  * 

What  Pleased  Her  Best. 

Fair  Parishioner — That  was  a  lovely 
sermon  you  gave  us  this  morning,  Mr. 
Lengthly.  The  Kev.  Lengthly  (flattered) 
— Ah,  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  Mrs.  C.  And 
what  part  of  my  discourse  did  you  par- 
ticularly enjoy? 

Fair  Parishioner — Oh,  the  closing  sen- 
tence. I  never  was  so  glad  to  hear  any- 
thing in  my  life. 

The  Reason. 
"So,"  growled  the  newly-married  man, 

"You  call  this  angel-food; 
I  s'nose  because  who  eats  of  it 

Is  changed  to  one  for  good !" 

*  *   .. 

Going  Carnegie  One  Better. 
Why  give  such  credit  to  a  man 

Because  he  should  elect  to 
Express  a  wish  that  he  die  poor  ? 

The  rest  of  us  expect  to ! 

*  *  * 

Natural  Result. 

""When  I  described  the  case  to  him,  and 
asked  him  for  ten  dollars  for  the  suffering 
poor,  he  gave  it  to  me,  and  showed  great 
feeling." 

"No  wonder;  most  any  man  would  show 

feeling  when  touched  for  that  amount!" 

*  *  * 

The  Meanest  Man. 

"They  tell  me  he  'has  buried  five  wives, 
and  hasn't  mit  up  a  single  tombstone  yet." 

"I  hear  that  he's  waiting  for  the  present 
incumbent  to  die,  because  he  can  get 
monuments  cheaper  in  lots  of  six!" 


Please     Mention     Overland     Monthly     In     Writing     Advertisers. 


xxi 


Four  Lots  in 


CAMP  MEEKER 


Picturesque  Surroundings 
For  Sale  at>  a  Sacrifice 
$150.OO  for  t,he  Four 


Address  D.  P.  Box  39,   Over- 
land Monthly  Office 


HALL'S 

VEGETABLE 


HAI  R 

RENEWER 


"THE    NEW     KIND" 

It  is  now  positively  known  that  falling  hair  is  caused 
ty  a  germ,  hence  is  a  regular  germ  disease.  Hall's  Hair 
Renewer,  as  now  made  from  the  "revised  formula," 
promptly  stops  falling  hair  because  it  destroys  the 
germs  which  produce  this  trouble.  It  also  destroys 
the  dandruff  germs,  and  restores  the  scalp  to  a  healthy 
condition. 

Formula:  Glycerin,  Capsicum,  Bay  Rum,  Sulphur,  Tea, 
Rosemary  Leaves,  Boroglycerin,  Alcohol,  Perfume. 

Ask  your  druggist  for  "  the  new  kind."  The  kind  that  does 
not  change  the  color  of  the  hair. 

B.  P.  HALL   &   CO.,  Nashua,  N.  H. 


The  Overland  Monti 

Ws  Bi, 

iFour 

SUl 

4 

ASCRIPTION   OFFER    (See   Page  xxvi.} 

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xxli  Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly   In    Writing   Advertisers. 


Th 


The  ideal 
instrument 
for  the  home 


The  Autopiano 


Is  the  ideal  instrument  for  the  home  where  all  the 
members  do  not  play  for  themselves.  It  can  be  played 
by  anyone,  with  the  aid  of  music  rolls  and,  best  of  all, 
it  can  be  played  with  feeling  and  with  the  most  accur- 
ate expression.  People  of  the  finest  musical  tastes 
are  realizing  the  boon  that  the  Autopiano  is  in  the 
home  or  in  the  club. 


The  Autopiano 


has  been  the  means  of  stimulating  a  liking  for  the  bet- 
ter classes  of  music.  It  has  appealed  to  grown  people 
who  never  expected  to  be  able  to  play  for  themselves 
just  as  it  has  been  warmly  accepted  by  young  people 
because  it  has  been  the  means  of  producing  every 
class  of  composition  without  the  labor  of  constant 
study  and  practice. 


The  Autopiano 


is  not  a  combination  of  a  piano  and  a  player  mechan- 
ism. It  is  a  single  instrument  built  in  one  factory  of 
the  finest  materials  and  by  the  most  expert  workman- 
ship. There  is  bat  one  genuine  Autopiano. 

A  postal  addressed  to  "Advertising  Department"  secures  a    beautiful    Art  Catalogue 

EILERS    MUSIC    COMPANY 

1130  Van  Ness  Ave.  SAN  FRANCISCO  1220  Fillmore  St. 

i     Other'   Stores:    OAKLAND    -    -    -    STOCKTON    -    -    -    SAN    JOSE    -    -    -    RENO,  NEVADA 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    in    Writing    Advertisers. 


N 

I 


Why  and  Because 

There  is  only  one  player  piano  in 
the  country  to  buy  and  that  is  the 

Melville  Clark  Apollo  Player  Piano 

Why?   You  Will  Ask 

There  are  several  unanswerable  reasons  why,  if  you  intend  to  have  a  player  piano 
in  your  home,  you  should  have  the  MELVILLE  CLARK  APOLLO  and  no  other. 

Here  are  the  Becauses 

1.  Because  the  Apollo  has  an  88-note  range,which  includes  every  key  on  the  piano 
key  board.    No  other  player  piano  in  the  world  has  more  than  65-notes  or  5  octaves. 

2.  Because  it  has  the  effective  transposing  mouthpiece,  which  prevents  the 
annoyance  caused  by  the  shrinking  and  swelling  of  the  music  rolls  due  to  climatic 
alterations,  and  that  changes  the  key  of  any  music  to  suit  the  voice  or  accompanying 
instrument.     No  other  player  piano  in  the  world  possesses  this  feature,  which  repre- 
sents fully  95  per  cent,  of  player  piano  value. 

3.  Because  it  is  operated  by  either  air  or  spring  motor,  and  is  extremely  sensitive 
in  its  action.     No  other  player  equals  it  in  this  respect.    The  Apollo  spring  motor  is 
so  strongly  constructed  that  atmospheric  conditions,  no  matter  how  severe,  cannot 

affect  it  in  the  slightest  degree.  This  motor  also  obtains  a  perfectly  even 
distribution  of  force,  which  enables  the  performer  to  achieve  the  most  artistic 
effects.  No  other  player  piano  in  the  world  has  a  spring  motor. 

4.  Because  every  one  of  the  88  pneumatic  fingers  of  the  Apollo  player 
piano  strikes  a  key  on  the  piano.  No  couplers  are  used.  The  orchestral  tone 
thus  attained  permits  the  performer  to  interpret,  in  an  impressive  manner, 
the  larger  musical  compositions,  and  to  gain  a  mass  of  sensuous  tone  color 
that  adds  greatly  to  their  beauty. 

5.  Because  the  Apollo  player  piano  with  its  remarkable  range  of  88  notes  plays 
the  greatest  musical  compositions  exactly  as  they  were  originally  written,  interpreting 
them  in  their  full  beauty,  and  as  they  are  played  by  the  greatest  pianists.    These 
noble  masterpieces  of  musical  art  are  rearranged  or  transposed  for  every  other  player 
piano  on  the  market,  and  the  pristine  beauty  of  the  work  is  marred. 

6.  Because  the  Apollo  player  piano  is  practically  five  instruments  in  one.    There 
Is  a  scale  with  a  range  of  58  notes,  one  of  65  notes,  one  of  70  notes,  one  of  82  notes  and 
one  of  88  notes.    The  music  rolls  cut  for  these  different  scales  can  all  be  played  on 
the  Apollo.    These  six  superior  features  give   the  APOLLO  PLAYER  PIANO  a 
commanding  place  in  public  esteem  and  make  it  by  far  the  most  desirable  instrument 
on  the  market  for  the  musical  home. 

OP    ^^^    ^ou  cer^ain'y  would  not  buy  a  five-octave  or  65-note  piano.  You 
"*•    UU  •     will  want  an  instrument  with  the  full  range  of  88  notes.    Then 
would  you  buy  a  65-note  player  when  you  can  GETQONE  WITH  88  NOTES? 

There  is  rto  doubt  that  you  will  have  none  other  than  an  Apollo  player  piano 
when  you  fully  understand  its  great  superiority  over  all  other  players. 

ITS  TONE  IS   BEALTIFUt.   and  it  is  one  of  the  handsomest  and  most  durable  player  pianos 

made  in  the  United  States. 


Send  for  illustrated  catalogue  to  the  manufacturers 

Melville  Clark  Piano  Co. 


xxiv  Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    in    Writing    Advertisers. 

For 

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Hartshorn  Shade  Rollers 


Wood  Rollers 


Bear  the  script  name  of  Stewart 

Hartshorn  on  label. 
Get  "Improved,"  no  tackg. required. 


Tin  Rollers 


Interior  Decoration 

IS     AN      ILLUSTRATED       MONTHLY 
MAGAZINE        FULL         OF         IDEAS 

Decorating  and  Furnishing  the 
Home  correctly  and  tastefully  is  as 
necessary  as  dressing  fashionably 
and  becomingly 

1 0  cents,  postpaid       $  1 .00  a  year 

Catalog  of  Books  on  Decoration  Free 

Clifford  &  Lawton,  19  Union  Sq.,  New  York 


. Y  FLOUR   COMPANY 

SAMf  RANCISCQ  OFFICE  !34  CALIFORNIA  SI. 


133  Spear  Street,  San  Francisco. 


Are  you  going  to   St.   Louis 

The  HOTEL  HAMILTON  is  a  delightful  place  in  the  Best  Resi- 
dent Section  and  away  from  the  noise  and  smoke;  yet  within  easy 
access.  Transient  Rate:  $1  to  $3  per  day.  European  Plan.  Specie 
Rates  by  the  week.  Write  for  Booklet.  Address:  W.  F.  WILLIAM- 
SON, Manager: 


DO  YOU  WANT 

INFORMATION  regarding  Nevada  mines,  mining  stocks  or  mining 
companies?  WRITE  US—information  cheerfully  furnished.  Also  send 
for  Todd's  Chronicle,  an  illustrated  pamphlet  giving  the  latest  and  most 
interesting  news  from  the  mining  camps  in  the  State,  especially  Goldfield. 
Free  maps  of  Goldfield  and  Nevada  sent  upon  request. 

ROBT.  B.  TODD,  Mines  and  Mining  and  Financial  Agent,  Box  227, 
Goldfield,  Nevada. 

For  Sale,  7000  acre  ranch  in  Idaho.  Box  1 6,  Somerville,  Mass. 


TURCR3 

of  HVTO1/ID 

Railing  Chairs 

-     fW  ACL  PURPOSES 


WhofesalecVRetail  ar\d  For  Rgf 
Illustrated  catalogue  on  application.    Office  and  Factory    1808 
Market  St.,  San  Francisco.  Branch,  837  S  Spring  St.,  Los  Angeles 


For  Breakfast 


The  Pacific  Coast  Cereal 


THE  JOHNSON-LOCKE  MERCANTILE  CO.,  Agents 
SAN    FRANCISCO 


xxvi 


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SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 

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and  one  of  Class  A,  $5.00. 


The  Overland  Monthly  with  any  of  Class  D 
and  one  of  Class  B,  $5.50. 

The  Overland  Monthly  with  any  of  Class  D 
and  two  of  Class  A,  $5.75. 

The  Overland  Monthly  with  any  of  Class  D 
and  one  of  Class  C,  $6.00. 

The  Overland  Monthly  with  any  of  Class  D, 
1  of  Class  A,  and  1  of  Class  B,  $6.26. 

The  Overland  Monthly  with  any  of  Class  D, 
1  of  Class  A,  and  one  of  Class  C,  $6.75. 

The  Overland  Monthly  with  any  of  Class  D, 
one  of  'Class  B  and  one  of  Class  C,  $7.25. 


TheOVERLAND  MONTHLY  CO.,  Publishers 


Offices — 773  Market  St.,  San  Francisco. 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    in    Writing    Advertisers. 


xxv  1 1 


La      Pintoresca 


The  most  comfortable  and  homelike  hotel  in  Pasadena,  California.  » 

Situated  on  elevated  ground  in  a  grove  of  oranges  and  palms,    surrounded  by  the  Sierra 
Madre  mountains.    Elegant,  rooms;  table  unsurpassed;  pure  water;  perfect,  appointments;  ten- 
nis, billiards.     No  winter,  no  pneumonia,  no  tropical  malaria. 
»  Write  for  booklet,  to  M.  D.  PA1 NTER,  Proprietor,  Pasadena,  Cal. 


The  Cleverest  Weekly 
on  the  Pacific  Coast 


. 


Published  for  the  people  who  think.     An  up-  to-date  lively  journal. 
Send  for  sample  copy. 

S.  F.  News  Letter, 

773  Market  Street,  San  Francisco,  Cal. 


xxviii  Please  Mention  Overland   Monthly  In  Writing  Advertisers. 


making  nf  Una  Angela 

Photographs  of  the  Rise  and  Growth  of  California's  Southern  City 

Oil??  5fcadjeraf  plgrtmage 

The  story  of  the  convention  of  the 

National  Educational  Association 

to  be  held  in  Los  Angeles  during  July 


nf 

cTVlanufactories  along  the  Bay  Shore 


Recent   discoveries  of    Footprints    in 

the     Carson,   Nevada,     Stone    Quarries 


SEND    SUNSET    TO    YOUR    EASTERN    FRIENDS    AND 

KEEP  THEM  POSTED  ON  SAN  FRANCISCO'S 

WONDERFUL    PROGRESS     IN 

RECONSTRUCTION 


©n 


Please     Mention     Overland     Monthly     in     Writing     Advertisers. 


HOME  TELEPHONE  ATTORNEY  GIVES  ITS  INSIDE  HISTORY 

Lighting  Plant  Burns;  Loss  $2,500,000;  City  Dark 


THE  LOSS  WttiB£GEORGE  F-  HATTON  TELLS  GRAND 


JURY  WHY  HE  WAS  EMPLOYED 


~Z=-=.ji~  IMPORTANT  TESTIMONY 

GIVEN  TO  GRAND  JURY 


Please   Mention   Overland    Monthly   in   Writing   Advertisers. 


Freight  prepaid  to  San  Francisco  or 
Los  Angeles  buys  this  massive  Napo 
eon  bed  No.  03165  (worth  $55.)  Made 
in  beautifully  figured  Mahogany  in 
Quartered  Oak,  Piano  Polish  or  Dull 
finish  Dresser  and  commode  to 
match  and  28  other  desirable  Suites 
in  our  FREE  catalogue. 


&9.90 


04081 


Freight  prepaid  to  Sa 
cisco  or  Los  Angeles  b 
artistic  Iron  Bed  No 
(worth  $15.)  Finished  a 
enamel  desired.  Vernis  Martin 
$2.00  extra.  46  other  styles  of 
Iron  and  Brass  Beds  from  $2  40 
to  $66.00  in  our  FREE  Catalogue 


Bishop    Furniture   Go. 


Grand   Rapids,  Mich 


Ship  anywhere  "on  approval,"  allowing  furniture  in  your 
home  five  days  to  be  returned  at  our  expense  and  money  re- 
funded if  not  perfectly  satisfactory  and  all  you  expected. 

WE  SHIP  to  San  Francisco  and  Los  Angeles  in  Car  Load 
lots  and  reship  frem  there  to  other  western  towns,  thus  se- 
curing lowest  carload  rates  for  our  customers.  Write  for  owr 
FREE  catalogue,  state  articles  wanted  and  we  will  quote  pre- 
paid prices 


&24.50 

Freight  prepaid  to  San  Fran- 
cisco or  Los  Angeles.  Buys 
this  large,  luxurica-  Colonial 

Rocker.  No.  04762    (worth  $40)  Freight    prepaid  to  San     Fran 

covered     with     best     genuine  cisco  or  Los    Angeles  buys  thi« 

leather.     Has  Quartered  Oak  or  handsome      Buffet     No.     0500 

Mahogany  finish    rockers,  full  (worth  $55.00).     Made  of  Select 

Turkish    spring  seat  and  hack.  Quartered  Oak,  piano  polish  or 

An  ornament  and  Gem  of  lux-  dull    finish.     Length    46    in., 

ury  and  comfort  in  any  home.  French  bevel  mirror    40x14  in. 

93    other   styles    of     rockers  50  other  styles  of  Buffets  and 

from  $2.75  to  $70    in  our  FREE  Side  Boards  from  $10.65  to  $150 

catalog.  in  our  FREE  catalogue' 


Our  FRKE  i 
good    to    the 


»talog 
best  n 


e  sho 


if  over  1000  pieces  of  fashionable 
It  posts   you  on  styles   and  pric 


ure  fr 
•ite  foi 


>m  the  cheapest  that 
it  today. 


Bishop  Furniture  Go.  78-90  lorta  St.,  Grand  Rapids,  Mich. 


We  furnish  homes,  hotels, 
hospitals,  clubs  and  public 
buildings  complete. 


&28.50 


Freight    prepaid  to 
Angeles    buys    this 
Pedestal  Dining    Exte 
(worth  $42.00.)     Mad 
Oak,  piano  polish 


San  Francisco  or  Los 
eautiful  High  grade 
tion  Table  No.  OS14 
of  select  Quartered 
dull  finish.  Top  48 


diameter,  has  perfect  locking  de- 
vice. Seats  10  when  extended,  4  when 
closed,  37  other  styles  of  Dining  Tables 
from  $7.75  to  $103.00  in  our  FREE  cata- 
logue. 


Freight  prepaid  to  San  Francisco  or  Los 
Angeles  buys  this  large  high-grade  Lib- 
rary Table  No.  04314  [worth  $15.00],  Made 
of  select  figured  Quartered  Oak  w  h  piano 
polish.  Length  42  inches:  width  27  inches. 
Has  large  drawer.  For  Mahogany  add $2  25. 
39  other  styles  of  Library  and  Parlor  tables 
from  $2.40  to  $65  in  our  FREE  catalogue. 


Goodyear's 
"Gold  Seal"  Rubber  Good 


Belting,   Packing  and   Hose.      Clothing,    Boots  and 

Shoes.  Druggists'  Rubber  Sundries.  Tennis  and 
Yachting  Shoes,  Fishing  and  Hunting  Rubber 
Boots,  Water  Bottles,  Rubber  Gloves,  etc. 

Headquarters     for     Everything      Made     of     Rubber. 

Goodyear  Rubber  Co. 


San  Francisco 


Portland,  Ore. 


R.  H.  PEASE    J.  A.  SHEPARD    F.  M.  SHEPARD,  Jr.     C.  F.  RUNYAN 

President  Vice  President  Treasurer  Secretary 


HOTEL  CUMBERLAND,  NEW  YORK 

S.  W.  Cor.  Broadway  at.  54th  Street, 


Ideal  Location.     Near  Theatres,    Shops,    and    Central    Park 
Fine  Cuisine.     Excellent  Food  and   reasonable  Prices. 

New,  Modern  and  Absolutely  Fireproof 

Within  one  minute's  walk  of  6th   Ave.  °'L"   and   Subway  and 
accessible  to  all  surface  car  lines       Transient   rates  $2,50   with 

bath  and  up,     Send  for  Booklet. 

HARRY  P.  ST1MSON  GEO.  L.  SANBORN 


THE  GERMAN  SAVINGS 
AND  LOAN  SOCIETY 

526    CALIFORNIA    STREET. 

San  Francisco 


Guaranteed  capital  and  surplus.  .$2,578,695.41 
Capital  actually  paid-up  in  cash  1,000,000.00 
Deposits,  Dec.  31,  1906 38,531,917.28 

P.  Tillmann,  Jr.,  President;  Daniel  Meyer, 
First  Vice- President;  Emil  Rohte,  Second 
Vice- President;  A.  H.  R.  Schmidt,  Cashier; 
Wm.  Herrmann,  Asst  Cashier;  George 
Tourny,  Secretary;  A.  H.  Muller,  Asst.  Sec- 
retary;  Goodfellow  &  Eells,  General  Attor- 
neys. 

DIRECTORS— F.  Tillmann,  Jr.,  Daniel 
Meyer,  Emil  Rohte,  Ign.  Steinhart,  I.  N. 
Walter,  N.  Ohlandt,  J.  W.  Van  Bergen,  E. 
T.  Kruse,  W.  S.  Goodfellow. 


iiiiiiiiiiuniiiiii iniiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiii!iiimiiiiiiiiiiiii!ii!iimiiiiiimii|i||! 

Pabst  Extract 

V     •fefrtf'  T&nio     •£ 


For 

Dyspepsia 

Loss  of  appetite  is  nature's  first 
warning  of  indigestion,  the  forerunner 
of  dyspepsia.  This  disease,  like  ner- 
vousness, is  often  due  to  irregular  liv- 
ing, improper  food  and  inattention  to 
diet.  The  digestiveorgans  are  inert,  the 
weakened  membranes  of  the  overtaxed 
stomach  are  unable  to  perform  their  func- 
tions, and  the  food  you  force  yourself  to  eat 
distresses  instead  of  nourishes.  Nothing 
will  do  more  to  stimulate  the  appetite  and 
aid  digestion  than 

pabst  Extract 

1fifJ)esTTonlc 

Combining  the  rich  food  elements  of  pure 
barley  malt  with  the  tonic  properties  of 
choicest  hops,  the  nourishment  offered  in 
this  predigested  form  is  welcomed  by  the 
weakest  stomach,  readily  assimilated  by 
the  blood  and  its  food  for  the  nerves  and 
muscles  is  quickly  absorbed  by  thetissues. 
At  the  same  time,  the  digestion  of  other 
foods  is  aided  by  promoting  the  flow  of  di- 
gestive juices,  while  the  tonic  properties 
of  the  hops  create  an  appetite  and  tone  up 
the  system,  thus  assuring  a  speedy  return 
of  health. 


creates  an  appetite,  aids  in  the  digestion  of 
other  foods,  builds  up  the  nerves  and  mus- 
cles of  the  weakened  stomach  and  con- 
quers dyspepsia.  It  brings  strength  to  the 
weak  and  overworked,  induces  refreshing 
sleep  and  revives  the  tired  brain. 

For  Sale  at  a11  Leading  Druggists 

Insist  ufaon  the  Original 

Guaranteed  under  the  National  Pure  Food  Law 
U.  S.  Serial  No.  1921 

Free  Picture  and  Book 

Send  us  your  name  on  a  postal  for  our  interesting  booklet 

and  "Baby'  6  First  Adventure"  a  beautiful  picture  of  baby 

life.     Both  FREE.     Address 

Pabst  Extract  Dept.    36         Milwaukee,  Wis 


3  COLD  MEDALS 
LEWIS  8  CLARK 
EXPOSITION. 


_ 


"A  Pure  Cocoa  of  Undoubted 
Quality  and  Excellence  of 
Manufacture" 

Walter  Baker's 


A  distinguished  London  physician,  in  giving 
some  hints   concerning  the  proper 

preparation  of  cocoa,  says: 

"Sturt  with  a  pure  cocoa  of  un- 
doulitcd  quality  and  excellence 
of  manufacture,  and  which  hears 
the  name  of  a  respectable  firm. 
This  point  is  important,  for 
there  are  many  cocoas  on  the 
market  which  have  been  doc- 
tored by  the  addition  of  alkali, 
starch,  malt,  kola,  hops,  etc." 


HIGHEST  AWARDS  In 
Europe   and   America 


WALTER  BAKER  &  CO.  Ltd. 

DORCHESTER,  MASS. 

Established  1780 


MENNEN5 

BORATED     TALCUM 

TOILET   POWDER 


"YOU'RE   SAFE" 

in  the  hands  of  the  little 
captain  at  the  helm,—  the 
"complexion  specialist," 
whose  results  are  certain, 
whose  fees  are  small. 

MENNEN'S 

Borated  Talcum 

TOILET  POWDER 

protects  and  soothes,  a  sure 
relief  from  Sunburn, 
Prickly  Heat,  Chitting, 
etc.  Put  up  in  non-refill- 
able  boxes  —  the  "  box 
that  lox"— for  your  protec- 
tion. If  Mennen's  face  is  on 
the  cover  it's  genuine  and 
a  guarantee  of  purity. 
Delightful  after  shaving. 

Guaranteed  under  Food  <K  Druga 

Act,  June  30, 1900.  Sen al  No.  1542. 

Bold  everywhere,  or  by  mail,  25c. 
SAMPLE  FREE 

G.  Mennen  Co.,  Newark,  N.J. 
Try  Mennen'H 
Violet  Iterated 
Tnlouml'owdor 
It  bat  toe  scent  of 
fresh  cut  Parma 
Violet*. 


GENTLEMEN 

WHO  DRESS  FOR  STYLE 

NEATNESS,  AND  COMFORT 

WEAR  THE  IMPROVED 


BOSTON 


GARTER 


THE  RECOGNIZED  STANDARD 

The  Name  is 
stamped  on  every 
loop  — 

The      _    _    _ 

CUSHION 
BUTTON 

CLASP 

LIES  FLAT  TO  THE  LEG— NEVER 
SLIPS,  TEARS  NOR  UNFASTENS 

Sample  pair,  Silk  50c.,  Cotton  25c. 
Mailed  on  receipt  of  price. 

6EO.  FROST  CO.,  Makers 
Boston,  Miss.,  U.S.A. 

ALWAYS  EASY 


vose 


PIANOS 


have  been  established  over  55  years.  By  our  ayste 
of  payments  every  family  of  moderate  circun 
stances  can  own  a  VOSE  Piano.  We  take  old  li 
struments  In  exchange  and  deliver  the  new  piar 
in  your  home  free  of  expense.  Write  for  Catalog 
D  and  explanation. 


Please     Mention     Overland     Monthly     In     Writing     Advertisers. 


ROYALDRCESTEB 

CORSETS 

4M.OO  to  $3.5O 

AND 

BON  TON 

CORSETS 

C5.OO  to£7.5O 

Combine  features  of  Style 
and  Fit  which  rnakeihem  the 
choice  ot  Modistes  wherever 
fine  dressmaking  is  done.^-o 

SOLD  BY  AIL  LEADING  DEALERS  ON  THE  PACIFIC  COAST 


'  ' 


A     FAIR     OFFER.! 


to  convince 


DYSPEPTICS 

and    those   suffering  from 

Stomach  Troubles 

of  the  efficiency    of 

flycozone 


I  will  send  a 


$1.00  BOTTLE  FREE 


Only  one  to  a  family 

to  any  one  NAMING  THIS  MAGAZINE,  and 
enclosing  25c.  to  pay  forwarding  charges.  This 
offer  is  made  t,o  demonstrate  t>he  efficiency 
of  tAis  remedy. 

Glycozone  is   absolutely  harmless. 

It  cleanses  the  lining  membrane  of  the  stom- 
ach and  thus  subdues  inflammation,  thus  helping 
nature  to  accomplish  a  cure. 

GLYCOZONE  cannot  fail  to  help  you,  and 
will  not  harm  you  in  the  least. 

Indorsed  and  successfully  used  by  leading 
physicians  for  over  15  years. 

Sold  by  leading  druggists.  None  genuine 
without  my  signature. 


Chemirt  and  Graduate  of  the    "Ecole   Centrale  des   Arts  et  Manu- 
facture! de  Paris,"  (France). 

57  Prince  Street,  New  York  City, 

FREEl-Valuable  booklet  on  how  to  treat  diseases. 


Iv  Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly    In    Writing    Advertisers. 

a  NEXT  OVERLAND 

SEPTEMBER     NUMBER 


The  September  issue  of  the  OVERLAND  MONTHLY  will 
approach  a  more  perfect  ideal  of  what  the  greatest  Western 
magazine  should  be  than  has  any  other  previous  number.  The 
stories  and  articles  will  be  distinctly  Western  —  savoring  of  the 
healthy,  rugged  atmosphere  of  the  Pacific  Coast. 

"  COLLEGE  AND  THE  WORLD  "  presents  the 
value  of  our  Western  college  training  in  its  relation  to  the  out- 
side world  in  an  entirely  novel  manner.  The  article  is  a  sym- 
posium of  opinion  by  a  Freshman,  a  Senior,  a  Graduate  and  a 
man  of  the  business  world. 

"OUR  SURFMEN"  is  an  intensely  interesting  and 
thrilling  narrative  of  the  life-saving  station  of  the  Atlantic  and 
Pacific  Coasts,  illustrated  profusely  with  some  remarkable  pho- 
tographs of  the  surfmen  at  work. 

The  second  story  on  climbing  the  world's  peaks  is  presented 
in  a  striking  article,  entitled  "  CLIMBING  FUJI,"  by 

Annie  Laura  Miller.  The  dangers  and  the  exciting  experiences 
of  the  author  in  scaling  Japan's  famed  white  mountain  are 
vividly  set  forth,  accompanied  by  some  splendid  illustrations. 

STRONG  WESTERN  FICTION 

The  fiction  of  the  number  will  savor  strongly  of  the  Western 
plains  and  mountains.  Herbert  Coolidge,  a  writer  of  impell- 
ing tales  of  the  new  Wtest,  will  contribute  a  humorous  adventure 
story  called  "  COWBOYS  ASTRAY  "  which  is  sure  to 
appeal  to  all  readers  of  stories  that  are  stories. 

"THE  GOLD  OF  SUN-DANCE  CANYON"  tells  of 
the  conflict  of  a  man  between  a  woman  and  a  mania  for  gold, 
and  what  came  of  it.  "  LITTLE  MUSKY'S  STORY  " 

is  a  very  interesting  study  of  a  musk-rat,  by  Clarence  Hawkes, 
who  also  contributes  a  story  to  this  issue.  And  there  will  be 
other  stories,  live,  human  Western  tales  of  this  land  of  ours, 
with  its  wonderful  feature  and  environments. 

There  will  be  special  departments  of  DRAMATICS, 
0         EDITORIAL  COMMENT,  LIGHTER    FICTION   and 
BOOK  REVIEWS." 

ALL  WILL  BE  LAVISHLY  ILLUSTRATED. 


On  Sale  August  25th,  at*  all  News  stands.   Price  1  5c.    Subscriptions, 
$1.5O  the  year,    may  begin  at  any  time. 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly   in   Writing   Advertisers. 


Every  Day  Adds  to 
Their  Laurels 

Aside  from  their  low  cost,  their  comparative 
freedom  from  repairs,  and  the  unequaled  small 
outlay  for  fuel,  the  constant  achievements  of 
Single  Cylinder  Cadillacs  in  competition  with 
high-priced,  multiple -cylinder  cars  make  them 
as  desirable  for  people  of  ample  means  as  for 
those  to  whom  economy 
is  an  object 


Model  K 


Model  M 

Four-passenger* 


Some  of  their  present  season 
records :  one  of  the  winners  of  the  two  days* 
endurance  run  of  the  Long  Island  Automobile  Club,  over  can 
selling  up  to  $4500 ;  two  runs  of  1 000  miles  each  and  one 
of  1 888  miles,  all  without  even  stopping  the  engine. 

A  Car  Almost  Any  Family  Can  Afford 
Recent  affidavits  from  thirteen  owners  of  Single  Cylinder 
Cadillacs  in  eight  states,  with  mileage  of  3,000  to  20,000, 
show  cost  of  repairs  to  have  averaged  57  cents  per  month  per 
car  (exclusive  of  tires).  Averaged  19^6  miles  per  gallon  of 
gasoline.  These  figures  are  a  little  better  than  some  Cadillac 
owners  do,  but  we  print  them  to  show  what  can  be  done  with 
these  most  economical  and  efficient  cars  in  the  world.  Illus- 
trated and  described  in  Catalogue  M  X  mailed  on  request. 

CADILLAC  MOTOR  CAR  CO.,  Detroit,  Mich. 

Member  A.  L.  A.  M. 


HOTEL  CUMBERLAND 

NEW  YORK  1 

S.  W.   Cor.    Broadway    at,   54th   Street. 


IDEAL  LOCATION. 
NEAR  THEATRES, 

SHOPS   AND 
CENTRAL  PARK 

New, 
Modern 

and 

Absolutely 
Fireproof 

Coolest  Summer 
Hotel  in  New  York. 

Close  to  5th  Ave. 
"L"  and  Subway 
and  accessible  to 
all  surface  car 
lines.  Transien* 
rates  $2.50  with 
Bath  and  up.  All 
outside  rooms. 

Special  rates  for 
summer  months. 


Under  the  management  of  HARRY  P.  STIMSON,  formerly  with 
Hotel  Imperial,  New  York;  F.  J.  BINGHAM,  formerly  with  Hotel 
Woodward. 


THE  GERMAN  SAVINGS 
AND  LOAN  SOCIETY 

526    CALIFORNIA    STREET. 

San  Francisco,    Ca 


Guaranteed  Capital  and  Surplus  $2,603,755.68 
Capital  actually  paid  up  in  cash  1,000,000.00 
Deposits,  June  29,  1907 38,156,931.28 

Officers — President,  F.  T/llma.n,  Jr.;  First 
Vice-President,  Daniel  Meyer;  Second  Vice- 
President,  Emil  Rohte;  Cashier,  A.  H.  R. 
Schmidt;  Assistant  Cashier,  William  Herr- 
mann; Secretary,  George  Tourny;  Assistant 
Secretary,  A.  H.  Muller;  Goodfellow  &  Eells, 
General  Attorneys. 

Board  of  Directors — F.  Tillman,  Jr.;  Dan- 
iel Meyer,  Emil  Rohte,  Ign.  Steinhart,  I.  N. 
Walter,  N.  Ohlandt,  J.  W.  Van  Bergen,  E. 
T.  Kruse  and  W.  S.  Goodfellow. 


vl  Please    Mention    Overland     Monthly    In    Writing    Advertisers. 

PURE  AND  WHOLESOME 

All  of  BORDEN'S  products  compljr  in  every 
respect  with  the  National  Pure  Food  and 
Drugs  Act  of  June  30,  1906,  against  adultera- 
tion and  mis-branding,  and  in  accordance 
with  Department  ruling  we  have  filed  our 
STANDARD  GUARANTEE  at  Washing- 
ton-No. 165. 

Borden's  Condensed  Milk  Co. 

Established  1857  "LEADERS  OF  QUALITY"  New  York 


Telephone  Temporary  2647 

Western  Building  Material  Company 

430  California  Street  San  Francisco 


Please    Mention    Overland    Monthly   In    Writing   Advertisers 


MODEL  B 

BULL  DOG  SUSPENDERS 

OUTWEAR  THREE  ORDINARY  KINDS 

Dependable- -Give   With    Every    Move-- 
Lively     Rubber,    Gold -Gilt,     Metal   Parts 


FOR    MAN       OR      YOUTH— LIGHT.      HEAVY    OR 
EXTRA  HEAVY— EXTRA    LONG  [NO  EXTRA  COST] 


If  he  cannot    supply  yon,  we  will,  postpaid,    for  50c 

HEWES  <&   POTTER 

LARGEST  SUSPENDER  MAKERS  IN  THE  WORLD 

Dept,.  895      87  Lincoln  St.,  Boston,  Mass. 


Learn  Fundamental  Thinking 

and  The  Scientific  Interpretation  of  Life 


The  sum  of  all  scientific  knowledge  forms  a  Network  of  Facts 
and  principles,  which  properly  understood,  will  guide  you  to  the 
TRUTH  in  every  field  of  enquiry. 


PARKER  H.  SERCOMBE  Sociologist 
Instructor  of  Impersonal  Philoso- 
phy based  on  the  Unity  and  In- 
ter-Relationship on  all  Knowledge 

A  course  of  six  lessons  by  mail  or  in  class  will  enable  you  to  al- 
ways choose  the  correct  point  of  \iew  on  every  subject  aud  thus 
go  far  towards  systematizing  your  thoughts  and  guiding  your 
judgment. 

No  application  will  be  considered  unless  it  is  accompanied  by  a 
sample  essay  of  not  more  than  two  hundred  words  containing  the 
applicant's  best  thought  on  his  favorite  subject. 

I  do  not  personally  accept  pay  for  my  service — all  fees  from 
pupils  being  turned  ov.  r  to  trustees,  the  fund  to  go  toward  found- 
ing a  Rational  School  of  Life  and  Thought. 


For  ter 


iddi 


Parker  H.  Sercombe,  2238  Calument  Avenue,  Chicago,  III. 


Pabst  Extract 


For  Insomnia 

Peaceful,  refreshing  sleep  is  one  of 

the  essentials  to  perfect  health.  With- 

out it  the  system  is  soon  run  down  and 

the  nerves    shattered.     Yet    many   a 

woman,  after  a  day  of  trials  in  the  house- 

hold, school  or  office,  is  robbed  of  this 

much  needed  rest,  while  many  a  man, 

retiring  to  sleep,  finds  himself  grinding 

over  and  over  thebusinessof  theday,  and 

slumber,  although  aggravatingly  striven 

for,  becomes  an   impossibility.     This  is 

what  is  termed  insomnia—business  cares, 

fatigue  or  excitement  keep  the  brain  in  a 

whirl,  but  no  matter  what  the  cause,  speedy 

relief  can  be  found  in 


Extract 


Containing  the  bracing,  toning,  soothing  prop- 
erties of  the  choicest  hops  blended  in  a  whole- 
some manner  with  the  vital,  tissue  building 
and  digestive  elements  of  pure,  rich  barley 
malt,  it  not  only  quiets  the  nerves,  producing 
sweet,  refreshing  sleep,  but  furnishes  nourish- 
ment in  predigested  form  that  rebuilds  the  de- 
bilitated system  and  carries  in  it  muscle,  tis- 
sue and  blood  making  constituents.  With 
peaceful  rest  thus  assured,  the  system  nour- 
ished and  the  appetite  stimulated,  causing  a 
desire  for  and  making  possible  the  digestion 
of  heavier  foods,  a  condition  of  perfect  health 
is  rapidly  assured. 

PaDst  Extract 


being  a  rich,  nourishing,   predigested  food 

that  is  ready  for  assimilation  by  the  blood 

as  soon  as  taken  into  the  stomach,  brings 

relief  and  cure  to  the  nervous,  strengthens 

the  convalescent,  builds  up  the  anaemic 

and  overworked,  restores  lacking  energy 

and  is  a  boon  to  nursing  mothers. 

At  all  Druggists.     Insist  upon  the  Original 

Guaranteed  under  the  National  Pure  Food  Law 

U.  S.  Serial  No.  1921 

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"Silver  Plate  that  Wears. ' ' 

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historic  Charter  Oak  Tree  at  Hartford,  Conn., 
that  the  original  Rogers  Brothers,  sixty  years 
ago,  first  discovered   the  process  of   electro- 
silver  plating. 

The  Charter  Oak  pattern,  like  all  goods 
that  hear  the  stamp 


is  as  artistic  in  design  and  as  skillfully  and 
carefully  made  as  sterling  silver.  The  finish 
is  a  very  pleasing  combination  of  Bright  and 
French  Gray,  the  pattern  lending  itself 
readily  to  this  treatment.  We  believe 
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used  by  millions  of 
mothers  for  their  children  while  teeth- 
ing, with  perfect  success.  It  soothes 
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in  every  part  of  the  world.  Be  sure  and 
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anteed  under  the  Food  and  Drugs  Act 
une  30,  1906.     Serial  No.  1098 


ESTABLISHED    1846. 


A  Liquid,  Antiseptic  and  Non- 
acid  Dentifrice  will  penetrate  the 
little  crevices  of  the  teeth  that  can- 
not be  reached  by  the  Tooth  Brush, 
cleansing  and  purifying  them,  and 
imparting  such  a  fresh  cleanly  sen- 
sation, as  to  become  a  joy  to  the 
mouth  and  refreshing  to  the  whole 
system.  SOZODONT. 


f  pll-3t 


mill 

to    gau    rn 

gou  Ijaw  In 


{ 


FRANCIS    J.    HENEY 


lirawn  by  R.    W.   Korcn 


Overland  Monthly 


No.  2 


AUGUST,     1907 


Vol.  L. 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  STENOGRAPHER 

BEIXG    AX    ANALYSIS    OF    THE    GRAFT    IN    SAX 

FRAXCISCO    AXD    THE    UXDEKLYIXG 

CAUSES     THAT    LED    TO    IT 

PHOTOGRAPHS    BY    GEORGE    HALEY    OF    THE   SAN  FRANCISCO   "CALL." 

DURING  the  days  when  Abe  Ruef  and  Mayor  Schmitz  were  carrying  out  their 
systematic  plan  of  extortion  and  bribe-taking,   there   was  one  man  in  San 
Francisco  who  was  intimately  associated  with  the  leading  figures  in  the  graft 
scandal.     This  former  confidante  of  Abe  Ruef  was  able  to  perceive  from  the  in- 
side the  real  motives  which  actuated  the  Curly  Boss  and  the  Mayor  as  he  climbed 
to  fame  and  opulence.    The  following  story  is  the  story  of  that  man,  told  from  a 
close  personal  knowledge  of  the  inner  workings  of  the  graft,  and  it  is  published 
here  because  it  best  analyzes  the  downfall  of  once-respected     American     citizens, 
and  treats  of  their  ruin  from  its  most  vital  standpoint — that  of  intense,  absorbing 
human  interest. — EDITOR. 


THE  story  of  the  graft  scandal  in  San 
Francisco,  so  far  as  I  have  observed 
it  from  the  inside  and  intend  to  re- 
late  here,   is    different     from      that      of 
similar  tales  of  graft  in  other   cities  of 
the  United  States.     The  graft    was    not 
the  result  of  an  organization  which  has 
existed  for  practically  no  other  purpose 


for  years,  as  is  the  case  of  Tammany  Hall 
in  New  York.  It  has  not  come  from  the 
preponderance  of  one  party  in  power  for 
many  terms  of  office;  nor  even  from  the 
indifference  of  the  people  to  the  dishonesty 
of  their  rulers,  as  in  Philadelphia. 

The  men  who,  representing  the  city  ad- 
ministration, are  under  indictment     for 


Langdon 


Cobb 


Ileney 


Oliver 


THE   PROSECUTION. 


grafting  in  San  Francisco,  did  not  intend 
to  be  dishonest  when  they  assumed  office, 
and — strange  as  it  may  seem  from  first  to 
last — 'from  their  advent  to  power  to  their 
ruin,  the  results  have  been  just  the  oppo- 
site of  what  might  be  expected  from  the 
underlying  causes  which  produced  and  de- 
termined them. 

Before  the  first  election  of  Schmitz,  the 
city  had  been,  as  is  usual  with  municipali- 
ties, under  the  control  of  the  politicians, 
the  citizens  taking  but  little  interest  in 
politics — which  is  also  unfortunately 
usual — and  the  choice  of  Mayor  had  been 
much  a  matter  of  which  party  proved  the 
more  energetic  and  adroit  at  the  polls  in 
its  manipulation  of  the  voters.  Phelan 
had  been  several  times  Mayor,  and  at  one 
time  had  been  extremely  popular,  but 
during  his  last  administration  a  strike  of 
teamsters  had  broken  out,  and  in  the 
handling  of  the  difficulty,  he  had  managed 
to  displease  both  sides,  the  Labor  Union- 
ists by  protecting  the  "scab"  drivers  with 
policemen,  and  the  business  men  by  not 
suppressing  the  trouble  with  more  force 


and  energy.  As  his  administration  drew 
to  an  end,  and  the  nominations  for  his 
successor  were  in  order,  the  Democrats 
felt  that  there  was  no  use  in  making  a 
fight,  so  they  hunted  up  a  young  man, 
who  was  willing  to  contribute  handsome- 
ly to  the  campaign  funds  for  the  honor  of 
the  nomination,  and  allowed  the  Bepubli- 
cans  to  name  a  man  who  not  only  had  no 
personal  popularity,  but  who  it  was  gener- 
ally believed  would  be  a  pliant  tool  in  the 
hands  of  those  who  controlled  his  nomina- 
tion. Dissatisfaction  was  general  and 
widespread,  and  several  of  the  Kepubli- 
can  papers  openly  supported  the  Demo- 
cratic candidate. 

The  Labor  Union,  party  had  been  or- 
ganized as  a  result  of  the  teamsters'  strike, 
but  it  was  without  leaders  or  influence  or 
political  sagacity,  and  it  may  be  added 
that  from  the  ranks  of  labor  unionism 
has  never  yet  been  evolved  a  leader.  The 
party  was  looking  for  a  candidate  for 
Mayor,  and  had  discussed  a  number  of 
possibilities,  many  of  most  radical  char- 
acter, including  one  Casey,  who  was  the 


CONFESSIONS   OF  A   STENOGEAPHEE. 


103 


.-MI lor  of  the  Teamsters'  Union.  At  this 
bsychological  moment,  Abraham  Euef 
Appeared  upon  the  scene. 
1  Abraham,  or,  as  he  is  better  known, 
j'Abe"  Euef,  is  a  native  Californian,  who 
IIM  d(3  one  of  the  best,  if  not  the  best,  rec- 
•  nls  of  any  graduate  of  the  State  Univer- 
sity. He  speaks  fluently  seven  languages, 
Is  well  read,  does  not  smoke,  never  drinks 
to  excess,  and  if  he  has  had  any  scandals 
with  the  other  sex,  they  have  never  at- 
tracted public  attention.  Pleasant  of  ad- 
oresSj  kind  and  courteous  in  his  manner, 
he  was  popular  even  among  those  who 
might  have  had  any  race  prejudice 
against  him,  though  politically  he  was 
looked  upon  solely  as  an  astute  district 
leader,  and  was  not  classed  with  the  inner 
political  circle  which  lunched  at  the  Pal- 
ace Hotel,  and  which  pretended — and  to 
a  very  large  extent  did — to  regulate  San 
Francisco  politics.  Euef  saw  that  there 
was  a  chance  for  success  politically  in  the 
conditions  which  prevailed  in  his  native 
city.  If  he  could  find  a  candidate  who 
would  at  once  appeal  to  the  labor  union 
enthusiasts  and  the  disgruntled  voters  in 
the  community  of  the  Democratic  and  Ee- 


publican  party,  he  might  win  the  election 
and  control  the  politics  of  the  city.  Casey, 
of  course,  was  not  such  a  candidate;  he 
was  too  radical,  too  coarse,  the  business 
element  would  not  vote  for  him;  but  there 
was  a  well  appearing  musician  at  one  of 
the  local  theatres,  a  man  who  could  make 
a  fair  speech,  who  knew  how  to  eat  with 
his  fork,  who  had  some  idea  of  how  to 
dress,  from  having  seen  good  dressers  at 
the  theatre,  who,  with  a  little  experience, 
could  be  made  to  present  a  very  decent  de- 
portment when  called  upon  on  public  occa- 
sions, and  who  was,  with  all  that,  per- 
fectly willing  to  "take  orders"  and  be- 
longed to  the  Musicians'  Union.  It  must 
not  be  supposed  that  Euef  thought  of 
Schmitz  when  he  first  began  to  look  for 
a  candidate  for  Mayor.  His  attention  was 
accidentally  attracted  to  the  availability 
of  the  Mayor  for  the  place  he  has  since 
filled  while  watching  Schmitz  at  his  fiddle 
during  an  entreact.  Euef  thought  the 
matter  over,  talked  it  over  with  others, 
and  finally  suggested  it  to  Schmitz.  No 
man  was  more  surprised  than  the  prospec- 
tive candidate  himself  when  the  proposal 
was  first  made  to  him,  but  Schmitz  has 


Fairall 


Schmitz 


Barrett 


Drew      Campbell 


SCHMITZ  SURROUNDED  BY  HIS  ATTORNEYS  DURING  HIS  TRIAL. 


104 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


never  lacked  self-confidence,  and  he  read- 
ily accepted  the  honor,  was  nominated  by 
Ruef  and  the  campaign  began. 

The  Labor  Unionists  were  asked  to  sup- 
port him,  because  he  was  a  labor  unionist, 
and  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  novices, 
they  not  only  pledged  themselves  to  vote 
for  the  ticket,  but  they  turned  in  to  elect 
it  to  a  man.  Meantime,  Schmitz  went 
about  making  speeches.  They  were  all 
revised  for  him  by  Ruef,  and  were  intend- 
ed to  accomplish  exactly  what  they  suc- 
ceeded in  doing — pleasing  both  sides.  The 
business  men  were  told  that  Schmitz  was 
ronservaiivr.  and  that  if  there  appeared 


shrewdness  by  taking  hold  of  the  cam- 
paign at  exactly  the  right  moment,  and 
had  secured  the  support  of  the  thousands 
of  voters  who  desired  to  down  the  bosses 
and  to  give  the  city  an  administration  free 
from  bossism  and  ring  rule. 

In  view  of  what  subsequently  has  hap- 
pened, that,  of  course,  may  seem  very  re- 
markable, but  its  peculiarity  does  not  alter 
the  fact.  Mayor  Schmitz,  recognizing 
that  to  Ruef  he  owed  his  sudden  promi- 
nence, wrote  him  a  letter  which,  if  poor 
politics,  yet  showed  that  he  was  able  tr 
appreciate  the  help  Ruef  had"  given  him. 
and  was  grateful  enough  to  publicly  n<-- 


AWAITING   THE   VERDICT. 


to  be  anything  radical  in  what  he  said,  it 
was  simply  intended  to  catch  votes,  and 
meant  nothing.  If  the  unionists  objected 
that  the  pledges  were  not  radical  enough, 
they  were  told  that  they  had  purposely 
been  made  mild,  so  as  not  to  alarm  the 
business  men,  who  were  willing  to  support 
the  ticket.  Thus  Schmitz  was  chosen 
Mayor  the  first  time  as  a  protest  on  the 
part  of  many  of  his  supporters  against 
bossism  in  their  own  parties,  and  as  an 
exponent  of  the  new  element  in  politics — 
Labor  Unionism.  Ruef  had  shown  his 


knowledge  his  obligation,  a  virtue  which 
it  is  doubtful  if  all  his  critics  possess. 

When  Eugene  Schmitz  first  took  office 
as  Mayor  of  San  Francisco,  he  had  not  the 
slightest  intention  of  doing  anything  dis- 
honest, and  it  was  his  earnest  desire  to 
give  his  native  city  the  best  administration 
it  had  ever  had.  As  for  Ruef,  he  had  been 
actuated  only  by  ambition,  the  ambition 
his  race  has  ever  shown,  to  rule  when 
possible,  and  it  was  love  of  power  and  not 
of  dollars  which  actuated  him  in"  his  coup. 
He  had  not  rime  to  fullv  decide  upon  hi? 


ABE  RUEF,.  "THE  NAPOLEON  OF  CRIMK 


106 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


future  during  the  progress  of  the  cam- 
paign, and  his  mind  was  entirely  centered 
on  an  effort  to  win.  When  the  victory 
was  won,  however,  he.  found  himself  at 
once  a  very  important  character.  His  of- 
fice was  thronged  at  all  hours  by  the  most 
polyglot  aggregation  of  place  hunters  that 
ever  assembled  in  a  politician's  anti-room. 
He  was  flattered,  praised,  and  pointed  out 
as  the  great  man  of  the  town.  While  he 
absolutely  controlled  the  labor  union 
party,  he  was  too  shrewd  to  resign  from 
his  position  as  a  member  of  the  Republi- 
can Central  Committee,  realizing  that  the 
Labor  Union  party  was  merely  local,  and 
that  it  was  only  valuable  as  a  political  as- 
set to  any  man  who  could  throw  its  votes 
for  either  of  the  great  parties.  But  the 
flattery  and  applause  did  not  come  solely 
from  his  international  following  of  wage- 
earners,  and  would-be  office  holders.  He 
at  once — strange  as  it  may  seem — became 
a  great  potentiality  in  the  ranks  of  the 
Republicans,  and  no  one  had  more  influ- 
ence and  power  in  their  local  councils  than 
he.  Naturally,  he  bethought  himself 
whereby  he  could  personally  profit  by  all 
this  power  and  importance,  and  his  eyes 
at  once  rested  upon  a  seat  in  the  Senate, 
which,  considering  his  personal  ability 
and  the  men  whom  this  State,  as  a  rule, 
has  sent  to  represent  her  in  the  upper 
chamber  at  Washington,  was  not  an  ex- 
travagant ambition.  More  than  that,  one 
of  his  race  had  been,  was,  in  fact,  at  the 
time,  a  Senator  from  Oregon,  and  that  in- 
creased his  ambition  and  hopes.  He  took 
for  his  model  Hanna,  and  his  intimates — 
so  far  as  any  one  can  be  called  an  inti- 
mate of  Ruef — will  tell  you  that  he  con- 
stantly alluded  to  the  Ohio  leader  and  ex- 
pressed intense  admiration  for  him. 

The  first  administration  of  Schmitz, 
therefore,  started  in  under  the  most  for- 
tunate circumstances.  Everything  was  be- 
fore him,  absolutely  nothing  politically  be- 
hind him.  He  had  been  elected  really  as 
a  reform  Mayor,  and  had  the  confidence 
of  both  the  business  classes  and  the  labor 
unions.  Of  it  little  need  be  said.  It  was 
neither  surprisingly  good  or  strikingly 
bad. 

He  undoubtedly  prevented  or  adjusted 
many  labor  troubles  and  strikes,  and  his 
appointments  would  compare  favorably 
with  those  of  his  predecessors.  His  fail- 
ures were  not  conspicuous,  nor  his  admin- 


istration corrupt.  But  with  his  new  pc 
tion  came  quite  a  different  point  of  vie 
of  the  world  from  that  which  he  had  hac 
from  the  orchestra  box  of  the  theatre. 
People  who  would  never  have  thought  of 
chumming  or  dining  with  a  fiddler  in  an 
orchestra,  were  delighted  to  Tse  seen  with 
the  Mayor,  and  of  course,  as  the  chief  offi- 
cial of  the  city,  he  was  a  guest  of  honor  at 
the  banquets  with  which  the  city  greeted 
its  distinguished  visitors,  from  President 
down.  The  fact,  too,  that  he  was  "a  labor 
union"  Mayor  had  attracted  more  than 
the  usual  amount  of  attention  to  him  all 
over  the  country,  and  those  who  fancy  that 
every  wage  earner  eats  in  his  shirt  sleeves 
on  all  occasions,  or  that  overalls  are  the 
dress  suits  of  unionism,  were  surprised, 
and  frankly  said  so,  when  they  met  him. 
Schmitz  made  an  excellent  impression, 
was  popular  with  the  notables  whom  he 
met,  and  in  that  lies  his  undoing.  When 
a  man  associates  with  railroad  Presidents, 
United  States  Senators  and  prominent 
foreigners,  he  naturally  desires  to  do  what 
he  sees  his  companions  doing.  Schmitz 
ceased  to  eat  at  "the  creameries,"  and  was 
to  be  seen  nightly  with  large  and  more  or 
less  distinguished  parties  at  the  most  fash- 
ionable restaurants.  Poached  eggs  on 
toast  and  a  small  steak  disappeared  before 
pate-de-fois-gras  and  Welsh  rarebits,  and 
when  he  traveled,  he  must  needs  stop  at 
the  very  best  hotels,  and  have  the  very  best 
accommodations,  such  as  his  millionaire 
friends,  Harriman  or  Dingee,  are  sup- 
posed to  enjoy.  But  all  these  luxuries 
take  money,  and  even  the  six  thousand 
dollars  of  a  Mayor  of  San  Francisco  were 
not  enough  to  "keep  up  the  pace,"  and 
therein  lies  the  secret  of  the  graft,  of  the 
dishonesty,  of  the  holding  up  of  first  this 
and  then  that  business  or  institution. 

With  Ruef  the  same  causes  produced  the 
same  results,  with  the  further  fact  that,  of 
course,  he  had  a  natural  tendency  to  make 
money,  and  had  acquired  several  pieces  of 
property  by  more  or  less  questionable 
methods  before  he  became  the  chaperon 
of  Schmitz,  if  rumor  speak  true.  He 
wanted  to  be  a  Senator,  and  Senators,  he 
knew,  were  generally  men  of  means.  So 
far  as  the  rabble  was  concerned  that 
yelped  at  his  door  and  cheered  his  every 
act,  he  despised  them  to  a  man,  and  looked 
upon  them  as  simply  a  means  to  an  end. 
Schmitz  was  in  the  same  category  with  the 


CONFESSIONS   OF  A   STENOGRAPHER. 


10; 


other  office  seekers.  He  was  useful,  noth- 
ing more.  When  the  Mayor  talked  of  be- 
coming a  candidate  for  Governor,  Ruef 
discouraged  him,  and  secretly  made  an  al- 
liance with  a  San  Jose  millionaire  to 
boom  the  latter  for  the  executive  chair. 
Ruef  did  not  care  so  much  for  the  display, 
the  intimate  friendships  with  millionaires, 
the  social  elevation  as  Schmitz.  He 
wanted  money,  and  he  wanted  power,  but 
he  did  not  care  whether  he  dined  with  Mc- 
Carthy or  Herrin,  with  a  labor  leader  or 
a  Southern  Pacific  official.  His  family 
had  no  desire  to  lead  the  fashions,  and 
he  would  never  have  made  the  mistake  of 
occupying  the  bridal  apartments  at  the 
Waldorf  Hotel,  or  of  going  to  Europe  as 
though  he  were  a  newly  created  Nevada 
millionaire.  He  saw  the  folly  of  the  pace 
that  Schmitz  was  setting;  he  urged  him 
not  to  build  his  elaborate  home,  which 
every  one  knew  could  not  have  been  erect- 
ed out  of  the  proceeds  of  the  Mayor's  sal- 
ary; he  begged  him  not  to  make  the  ill- 
advised  trip  to  Europe,  where  Schmitz 
went  to  receive  the  applause  and  lauda« 
tion  of  crown  hea;ds,  and  with  an  insane 
fancy  that  he  would  even  dine  with  the 
Kaiser  before  he  returned  home.  Bt  t 
Ruef's  wise  advice  was  disregarded,  and 
the  Mayor  even  accelerated  his  pace. 

He  had  been  twice  re-elected  Mayor 
again,  owing  to  other  combinations  of  cir- 
cumstances, the  first  re-election  being  due 
to  the  unpopularity  of  his  Republican  op- 
ponent on  the  one  hand,  and  to  the 
treacherousness  of  the  politicians  who  se- 
cretly formed  an  alliance  with  him  and 
threw  down  their  own  candidate  in  his 
favor.  As  for  the  Democrats,  the}  nomi- 
nated a  strong  candidate — Franklin  K. 
Lane,  the  present  Interstate  Commerce 
Commissioner — but  his  party  proved  even 
more  treacherous  to  him  than  the  Repub- 
licans were  to  tbeir  candidate,  and  hav- 
ing refused  to  bear  the  yoke  of  the  would- 
be  dictator  of  his  party,  he  was  "knifed" 
so  badly  that  he  only  carried  one  precinct 
in  the  city.  Two  years  later  the  opposi- 
tion endeavored  to  unite,  but  jealousies 
were  allowed  to  prevail,  and  every  leader 
had  his  hand  raised  against  his  neighbor, 
until  finally  an  inconspicuous  young  man 
was  suggested  as  a  candidate  for  Mayor, 
and  was,  of  course,  defeated. 

Thus,  events  and  circumstances  which 
had  absolutely  nothing  to  do  with  Schmitz, 


which  were  in  no  wise  controlled  by  him, 
and  to  which  he  contributed  nothing,  have  ] 
twice  re-elected  him  Mayor.  Foolishly  he; 
arrogated  oo  himself  the  success  which  had 
attended  his  candidacy,  and  with  pride 
coming  before  a  fall,  he  has  continued  up- 
on his  course,  until  it  has  accomplished) 
his  ruin. 

The  exposure  of  the  graft  in  San  Fran- 1 
cisco  politics  is  due  to  causes  as  far-re- 
moved from  those  that  led  to  the  expo- 
ures  in  St.  Louis,  Minneapolis  and  Phila- 
delphia as  the  corruption  there  differed  in 
its  characteristics  from  the  graft  in  San 
Francisco.  In  those  cities,  the  exposures 
came  either  on  the  initiative  of  some  hon- 
est official  who  was  elected  to  office,  as  in 
the  case  of  Folk,  who  became  the  prose- 
cuting attorney  of  St.  Louis,  or  else 
through  the  indignation  and  uprising  of) 
the  people  as  in  the  case  of  Philadelphia. 
But  in  San  Francisco  neither  motive  pro- 
duced the  results  that  to-day  attract  the 
attention  of  the  world.  No  public 'official 
undertook  of  his  own  initiative  to  begin 
and  carry  on  the  investigation;  neither 
was  there  any  public  demand  for  anything 
of  the  kind.  If  the  people  were  being 
robbed,  they  certainly  did  not  complain, 
and  it  is  worthy  of  note  that  in  San  Fran- 
cisco the  usual  means  of  graft,  such  as 
street  contracts,  or  public  buildings,  have 
not  figured  in  the  illegal  gains  of  Schmitz 
and  his  fellow  boodlers  at  all. 

The  initiative  of  the  San  Francisco  in- 
vestigation belongs  to  Rudolph  Spreckels, 
son  of  the  Sugar  King,  and  one  of  the 
numerous  millionaires  of  the  city,  who 
was  influenced  by  business  reasons,  and 
who  associated  with  himself  several  other 
wealthy  citizens  in  the  subscription  to  a 
large  fund,  which  they  raised  for  the  pur- 
pose of  carrying  on  the  exposure.  It  has 
been  the  policy  of  the  Spreckels  family  for 
many  years — in  fact,  they  have  made  most 
of  their  money  by  the  method — to  take 
up  some  public  enterprise,  associate  them- 
selves with  it,  under  the  plea  that  they 
were  helping  the  public,  and  then  at  the 
proper  time  to  drop  out,  always  with  a 
handsome  profit  to  the  good  side  of  their 
bank  account.  In  that  way,  they  years 
ago  built  a  sugar  refinery  in  Philadelphia, 
which  they  subsequently  sold  to  the  sugar 
trust,  with  an  agreement  that  the  trust 
would  not  interfere  with  their  trade  on 
this  coast. 


MAYOR   SCHMITZ,   FOUND  GUILT  f  OF   EXTORTION. 


CONFESSIONS   OP  A   STENOGRAPHER. 


Later  they  took  advantage  of  public  in- 
dignation against  demands  and  extortions 
of  the  Southern  Pacific,  and  started  a  com- 
pany to  build  a  railroad  down  the  San 
Joaquin  Valley,  which  it  was  pledged 
would  be  a  competing  line  for  the  farmers 
of  that  valley,  though,  as  usual,  it  was  sold 
years  ago  at  a  profit  to  the  Spreckels,  to 
the  Santa  Fe.  Again  a  competing  electric 
light  company  was  formed,  and  in  due 
time  sold  out,  and  still  later,  even  to-day, 
there  is  much  gossip  about  their  manipu- 
lation of  the  Oceanic  Steamship  Company 
which  has  gone  almost  into  bankruptcy, 
its  shares  falling  from  a  handsome  figure 
to  almost  nothing. 

Just  before  the  earthquake  of  a  year 
ago,  the  Spreckels — Rudolph  in  particular 
— had  organized  a  street  car  company, 
which  was  to  have  put  an  underground 
trolley  system  on  several  of  the  streets  of 
the  city,  and  which  would  have  been  quite 
a  rival  to  the  present  United  Eailroads, 
until  it  followed  the  usual  route  of  the 
Spreckel's  companies,  as  outlined  above. 
But  the  earthquake  came,  and  the  com- 
pany never  completed  its  organization. 
The  United  Eailroads  had  been  busy  fight- 
ing for  a  franchise  to  turn  most  of  their 
cable  lines  into  trolley  systems  at  the  time 
of  the  great  disaster,  and  the  Spreckelses 
were  among  the  most  active  opponents  of 
the  measure.  After  the  fire,  however,  the 
United  Railroads  secured  their  franchise, 
and  of  course  that  very  seriously  impaired 
the  value  of  the  proposed  Spreckels  road. 
Just  at  this  point  Mr.  Spreckels  suddenly 
announced  that  he  would  guarantee  a 
fund  of  $100,000  to  prosecute  the  city 
boodlers.  The  money  was  raised,  and  the 
brilliant  Francis  J.  Heney  (who  had  dis- 
tinguished himself  in  the  prosecution  of 
Senator  Mitchell  and  other  prominent 
persons  in  Oregon  for  land  frauds)  was 


engaged  to  take  hold  of  the  investigation, 
and  it  was  begun.  Among  the  charges  was 
one  that  the  franchise,  to  substitute  the 
trolley  for  the  cable  by  the  United  Rail- 
roads had  been  obtained  by  fraud  and 
bribery,  and  of  course,  if  that  can  be 
proven,  it  may  be  possible  to  successfully 
attack  the  franchise  and  to  have  it  re- 
scinded. This  would  certainly  be  of  im- 
mense advantage  to  any  rival  road,  espec- 
ially as  in  many  cases  the  cable  road  has 
been  torn  up,  and  it  would  mean  the  sus- 
pension of  all  traffic  over  many  lines  if  the 
United  Railroads  were  forced  to  return 
to  the  inadequate  cable  system  of  the  past 
decades. 

The  reader  is  as  capable  of  deciding  as 
the  writer,  whether  under  the  facts  as 
here  set  forth  Rudolph  Spreckels  is  a 
patriot  or  no.  No  one  will  dispute  that 
the  statements  here  made  are  absolutely 
true.  It  is  only  fair  to  say  that  besides 
Mr.  Spreckels's  interest  in  the  street  car 
franchise  there  were  several  other  inter- 
ests, including  the  water  supply,  for  the 
city,  which  would  profit  by  a  conviction  of 
the  city  administration  in  the  granting  of 
franchises,  and  the  action  it  has  taken 
in  granting  privileges  to  companies  which 
proposed  to  supply  different  public  utili- 
ties ;  and  it  is  worthy  of  note  that  the  ac- 
tual bribe  receivers,  with  the  exception  of 
the  Mayor,  have  all  been  granted  immu- 
nity from  their  confessed  dishonesty,  while 
the  gentlemen  who,  in  the  interests  of  the 
public,  have  been  exposing  them  have 
even  held  them  in  office,  while  at  the  same 
time  every  effort  has  been  made  to  convict 
and  injure  the  business  rivals  of  Spreckels 
and  hifl  friends.  Thus  it  can  be  seen  that 
the  nature  of  graft  in  San  Francisco  is 
entirely  different  from  the  graft  situation 
in  the  other  big  cities  of  the  United 
States. 


THE    FIRST    ASCENT    OF 
MOUNT    SHUKSAN 

BY    ASAHEL    CURTIS 

ILLUSTRATED      WITH      PHOTOGRAPHS. 

NO  CLEANER,  fairer  sport  can  be  found  under  the  heavens  than  the  ascent 
of  some  unclimbed  peak,  and  he  who  plays  the  game  must  needs  be  patient, 
sound  of  wind,  and  strong  of  limb.  After  days  and  nights  of  tram,ping, 
when  the  last  grim  obstacle  has  been  overcome,  and  some  pinnacle  of  rock  or  ice, 
untrodden  since  the  dawn  of  creation,  htis  been  reached,  no  enjoym,ent  can  be 
keener.  This  is  the  first  of  a  series  of  articles  on  scaling  the  world's  peaks,  told 
by  those  who  have  succeeded.  Mr.  Asahel  Curtis  tells  in  the  following  vigorous 
article  how  he  reached  the  summit  of  Mt.  Shuksan.  In  September  w<i  will  pub- 
lish the  second,  a  strong  and  keenly  descriptive  account  of  the  ascent  of  Mt.  Fuji, 
the  famed  peak  of  Japan.  That  article  will  be  followed  by  vivid  stories  of  moun- 
tain climbers  of  Sunset  Mountain,  an  extinct  volcano  of  Northern  Arizona,  and 
of  the  Matterhorn. — EDITOR. 


THE  lure  and  challenge  of  the  un- 
climbed,    unconquered     mountain, 
with   its    wastes   of   rock   and   ice, 
leads   one   into   untrodden   countries,   by 
strange  trails,  where  deep     blue     valleys 
wind  away  to  the  ends     of     the     earth. 
No  finer  or  better  sport  can     be     found 
than  this  contest  with  nature.     It  lead? 


one  into  the  wilderness  where  nature  is 
seen  at  her  grandest.  Where  rock  and 
snow  pile  highest,  swept  by  the  winds  of 
heaven,  where  every  obstacle  of  nature 
has  to  be  overcome,  there  the  keenest 
sport  will  be  found.  The  challenge  is 
always  there,  but  the  season  is  short,  for 
with  the  first  approach  of  winter  these 


THE   FIKST  ASCENT  OF  MOUNT   SHUKSAN. 


Ill 


;owering  crags  of  earth  withdraw  into  a 
solitude.  It  is  a  sport  that  all  can  enjoy, 
md  from  which  all  can  gain  strength, 
learning  the  ways  of  falling  rock  and 
sliding  snow,  and  how  to  avoid  one  diffi- 
culty and  overcome  the  next,  until  suc- 
cess greets  one  at  last. 

It  was  such  a  challenge  that  led  Mr. 
W.  M.  Price  and  I  to  attempt  the  ascent 
of  Mount  Shuksan,  which  we  made  during 
the  Mazama  outing  to  Mount  Baker,  in 
August,  1906.  We  had  planned  to  make 
the  ascent  even  at  the  cost  of  the  official 
climb  of  Baker,  for  Baker  had  -been 
climbed  many  times.  Shuksan  is  a  rem- 
nant of  the  great  plateau  from  which  the 
Cascade  range  has  been  carved,  and  is  the 


all,  as  the  mountain  was  a  mass  of  greaD 
pinnacles  sheeted  in  hanging  glaciers. 

Curious  to  see  the  mountain,  and  assure 
ourselves  that  its  very  presence  was  no 
myth,  we  started  soon  after  breakfast  to 
climb  the  western  slope  of  Table  Moun- 
tain, which  lay  between  our  camp  and 
Shuksan.  In  an  hour  we  were  on  top, 
watching  the  strange  pigmies  that  were 
moving  in  the  little  patch  of  green  with 
the  white  spots  which  we  knew  was  camp, 
but  which,  through  the  clear  mountain 
air,  appeared  but  a  few  hundred  feet  away. 
After  many  wild  hallos  we  made  the 
sound  carry  to  those  pigmies,  and  were 
greeted  with  cheers  and  wild  waving  of 
handkerchiefs. 


MT   SHUKSAN,    10,600    FEET   HIGH. 


highest  point  left  of  the  original  upheaval. 
It  is  situated  in  the  northern  part  of 
Washington,  some  fifteen  miles  east  of 
Mount  Baker. 

We  could  find  no  record  of  an  ascent, 
and  were  warned  of  the  danger  of  an  at- 
tempt. Major  Ingraham,  who  climbed 
Baker  some  years  ago,  cautioned  us  par- 
ticularly of  the  danger  of  avalanches 
which  their  party  heard,  across  the  fifteen 
miles  that  separates  the  two  mountains. 
Glasscock,  who  climbed  Baker  alone  in 
the  spring  of  1906,  reported  that  the  as- 
cent would  be  very  difficult,  if  possible  at 


To  the  eastward  a  wall  of  snow  still 
shut  us  in,  but  above  its  crest  there  rose, 
into  the  blue  sky,  the  point  of  a  distant 
finger  of  rock.  Hurriedly  we  climbed  the 
snowfield,  to  see  what  lay  below  that  fin- 
ger, and,  once  on  top  of  the  crest,  saw 
the  mountain  in  all  its  forbidding  gran- 
deur. Stretching  away  to  the  southeast, 
almost  from  our  feet,  lay  a  long  rocky 
ridge,  cut  through  by  deep  gorges,  filled 
with  snow.  Each  succeeding  peak  of  the 
ridge  rose  higher  and  wilder,  until  a 
great  black  mass  of  rock  barred  the  way. 

Down  the  sides  of  this,  streams  of  ice 


112 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


were  flowing,  falling  from  ledge  to  ledge 
in  their  descent  from  the  summit 
snowfields.  Between  the  two  upper  snow- 
fields  rose  the  rock  finger  we  had  seen 
from  below,  a  thousand  feet  above  the 
rest  of  the  mountain,  black  and  forbid- 
ding, too  steep  for  snow  to  cling  to.  Eest- 
ing  on  the  very  top  of  this  finger  we 
could  clearly  see  a  rock  weighing  tons,  so 
balanced  that  it  appeared  to  overhang  by 
thirty  feet.  This  rock  at  once  became  our 
goal,  and  the  challenge  to  make  the  ascent 
was  accepted  as  our  own. 

The  first  attempt  to  ascend  the  moun- 
tain was  made  along  this  ridge,  with  a 
hope  that  a  way  could  be  found  from  shelf 
to  shelf  of  the  hanging  glaciers  and  thus 


To  the  south,  loosened  rocks  rolled 
sight  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  but  the  roar  sent 
up  from  the  void  was  ominous. 

At  many  places  we  found  tracks 
mountain  goats,  and  had  been  keeping  a 
sharp  lookout  for  a  sight  of  one,  but  had 
not  been  successful.  Coming  up  the  slope, 
over  soft  snow,  we  made  little  noise,  and 
came  out  on  the  shoulder  of  a  crag,  when 
suddenly  a  goat  sprang  from  his  bed  not 
fifteen  feet  away,  and  in  curiosity,  stood 
for  a  full  minute,  broadside,  with  head 
turned  to  see  what  curious  animal  had  in- 
vaded his  home.  Before  a  camera  could 
be  unslung  from  the  pack,  he  had  van- 
ished un  the  mountain  side  with  a  speed 
and  ease  that  seemed  marvelous.  Later  or 


SNOW   FIELDS   NEAR  THE   SUMMIT. 


—  onj;o  the  snowfields,  at  the  base  of  the 
pinnacle.  These  snowfields  must  be 
reached  some  time  in  the  ascent;  it  was 
only  a  choice  of  routes.  Hour  after  hour 
we  toiled  up  the  peaks  of  the  ridge  and 
into  the  gorges  between.  Each  peak  rose 
higher  than  the  last,  timber  growth  dwin- 
dled to  sprawling  shrubs,  and  we  were 
still  not  on  the  main  mountain.  WJhere 
the  ridge  ended  and  the  real  bulk  of  the 
mountain  began,  a  deeper  gorge  scarred 
the  rock,  like  a  great  gash,  and  we  were 
able  to  get  into  it  only  because  of  the 
snow  that  lay  deep  on  the  northern  side. 


his  tracks  were  seen  on  a  snow  slope  at  an 
angle  of  60  degrees,  where  we  had  to  chop 
steps  in  the  frozen  snow,  but  he  had  gone 
apparently  with  ease. 

After  fourteen  hours  of  ceaseless  effo:t 
a  crag  was  reached,  between  two  of  the  gla- 
ciers, almost  directly  beneath  the  main 
summit,  but  separated  from  it  by  gre^t 
glaciers,  seamed  with  deep  crevasses.  A 
way  might  be  found  through  this  maze, 
but  it  would  require  days  of  work.  No 
camp  could  be  made  on  the  sheer  crag-?, 
and  it  was  then  five  o'clock,  with  the  sum- 
mit hidden  in  rolling  clouds,  so  reluctant- 


THE   SOUTHEAST    SIDE  OF   SHUK8AN,   WHERE   THE   ASCENT    WAS    MADE,    SHOW- 
I  Ml     Till:     PRECIPITOUS    CHARACTER    OF    THE   PEAK. 


114 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


ly  the  attempt  had  to  be  abandoned. 

Our  work  was  not  useless,  however,  as 
we  found  what  we  thought  would  prove 
an  easier  but  longer  route  of  reaching  the 
snowfields  at  the  base  of  the  pinnacle. 

After  a  day  in  camp  to  rest,  we  started 
once  more  for  the  mountain,  planning  r,o 
try  the  southwest  slope  between  two  <f 
the  lesser  glaciers.  We  could  not  hope  to 
reach  the  summit  in  a  single  day,  so  made 
a  leisurely  trip  across  the  beautiful  val- 
leys that  lie  at  the  base  of  Shuksan  ridge. 
Blue-berries,  just  ripening,  led  us  many 
times  from  the  trail;  the  sweet  incense  of 
mountain  grass  and  flowers  charmed  us, 
and  we  were  loath  to  leave,  but  over  the 
top  of  the  ridge,  faint  in  the  afternoon 


stunted   Towth  of  mountain  trees  grew 
up  to  the  6,000  foot  level. 

Here  every  possible  route  was  traced, 
everv  glacier  and  snowfield  searched  for  a 
route  up  the  mountain.  We  finally  de- 
termined to  try  a  crevice  that  seemed  to 
cut  across  the  whole  face  of  one  of  the 
rocky  spurs. 

Going  then  to  the  southward  along  the 
base  of  Shuksan,  steadily  climbing,  over 
talus  and  the  moraine  of  a  glacier,  under 
a  water-fall  that  plunged  down  from  its 
icy  birthplace,  we  rose  above  the  valley. 
The  route  we  had  chosen  appeared  to 
the  favorite  one  of  goats,  for  many  h 
traveled  it.  It  may  have  been  their  main 
thoroughfare,  but  they  are  surely  not  fit- 


AMONG   THE   CRAGS   OF   MT.    SHUKSAN. 


haze,  hung  the  same  grim  mountain  mass, 
its  challenge  still  unanswered. 

Turning  to  the  eastward,  up  a  tribu- 
tarv,  we  climbed  a  spur  of  the  main  ridge, 
and  from  the  pass  saw  the  whole  mass  of 
the  mountain,  which  here  rose  8,000  feet 
above  the  valley.  Directly  in  front  of  us 
a  cascade  glacier  crawled  down  the  moun- 
tain side.  From  its  front,  blocks  of  clear 
blue  ice  broke  away  and  fell  until  they 
were  ground  to  dust.  Beautiful  threads 
of  water  fell  over  the  cliffs,  becoming 
wreaths  of  spray  in  their  descent,  while 
on  the  protected  points  of  the  ridges  a 


ting  engineers  to  run  lines  for  humans. 

Sunset  found  us  on  a  spur  at  timber 
line,  the  lower  world  lost  in  the  haze  of 
forest  fires.  The  ridges  of  the  mountair 
disappeared  in  the  smoke,  and  we  felt 
that  our  camp  was  suspended  above  the 
world.  Across  the  valley,  the  rounded 
shoulder  of  a  foothill  broke  through,  while 
dimly  outlined  in  the  west  the  mighty 
dome  of  Baker  appeared  like  some  fairy 
creation  in  the  heavens,  rather  than  a 
mountain  of  earth.  Its  foothills  were  gone 
and  the  soft  haze  magnified  the  icy  slopes 
behind  which  the  sun  was  setting. 


THE   FIEST  ASCENT  OF  MOUNT   SHUKSAN. 


115 


In  the  last  light  of  day  a  brush  shelter 
was  built  and  wood  gathered  for  an  all- 
night  fire.  We  had  no  blankets,  the 
weight  of  camera  and  food  being  all  we 
carerl  to  take  on  such  a  trip,  and  the 
nights  were  cold.  The  stars  were  out  be- 
fore our  shelter  was  finished  and  supper 
cooked,  so  with  shoes  for  a  pillow  we  feil 
asleep.  Countless  times  we  were  awakened 
by  the  cold  as  the  fire  died  down,  or  by 
sliding  into  the  fire.  There  was  no  diffi- 
culty in  telling  when  morning  came,  and 
no  reluctance  about  leaving  our  impro- 
vised beds. 

Thus  far  everything  had  proven  favor- 
able, and  refreshed  by  a  fair  night's  sleep, 
we  started  up  the  snow  slopes  between  the 
glaciers.  Ridges  of  rock  divided  the  snow, 


nacle  that  we  had  been  seeking  so  long, 
with  nothing  between  to  prevent  our  ap- 
proach. The  rock  itself  looked  formidable 
enough:  only  one  small  patch  of  snow 
found  a  resting  place  on  its  side,  but  it 
did  not  appear  impossible. 

In  spite  of  the  smoke  the  view  was  mag- 
nificent. To  the  eastward  a  group  of  les- 
ser pinnacles,  unnamed,  unknown,  broke 
through  the  ice  capping.  Beyond,  seen 
faintly  through  the  haze,  a  thousand  snow- 
capped peaks  or  ragged  rocky  pinnacles 
too  steep  to  hold  snow,  rose  into  view.  This 
mass  of  mountains,  the  Cascades  rising  ^o 
meet  the  Selkirks,  is  the  highest  point  left 
of  the  primary  upheaval  in  Washington, 
and  probably  the  most  beautiful  in  the 
State. 


PRICE    BUILDING    THE    CAIRN. 


each  succeeding  one  steeper  than  the  last, 
but  the  rock  cleavage  afforded  fair  hand 
and  foot  holds.  The  snow  slopes  were 
soon  too  steep  to  be  trusted  without  cut- 
ting steps,  and  there  was  no  time  to  do 
this,  so  we  were  forced  to  follow  the  rocks 
wherever  possible.  The  slope  ended 
finally,  just  below  the  crest,  in  a  clear 
field  of  snow,  and  steps  had  to  be  cut  to 
the  top.  Once  up  this,  and  we  knew  that 
the  ascent  could  be  made,  for  before  us 
stretched  the  great  snowfields  that  cover 
the  main  plateau,  and  which  feeds  a  sys- 
tem of  glaciers  flowing  out  on  all  sides  ex- 
cept the  north.  Across  two  miles  of  ice 
and  snow  appeared  the  same  black  pin- 


Our  way  now  lay  along  the  crest  of  the 
ridge,  near  the  northwest  side,  and  we 
could  see,  far  down  below,  the  crags  we 
had  reached  in  our  first  attempt.  Once  at 
the  base  of  the  pinnacle,  the  real  rock 
work  of  the  ascent  began.  There  was  a 
Irandred  yards  of  easy  going,  then  straight 
up  the  rock  face,  clutching  a  hand-hold 
here,  a  foot  hold  there,  we  worked  our 
way.  We  were  following  the  crest  of  the 
ridge,  little  more  than  a  knife  edge,  which 
fell  away  in  a  dizzying  descent  on  either 
side.  Crevices  in  the  rock  were  scarce 
and  insecure,  and  in  many  cases  pieces  of 
rock  had  to  be  chipped  away  with  the  back 
of  a  hand  axe  to  give  any  hold  at  all. 


116 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


These  gave  a  very  uncertain  hold,  but 
enough  to  take  one  up.  We  were  next 
barred  by  a  smooth  face  of  rock,  and  I 
lifted  Price  up  until  he  could  get  a  grip 
on  a  shelf  above  and  slowly  drag  himself 
up  onto  it  and  drop  a  line  to  me.  Our 
greatest  danger  lay  in  some  piece  of  rock 
giving  away  when  our  whole  weight  was 
on  it.  This  happened  in  spite  of  the 
greatest  caution,  and  in  one  case  both  a 
hand  and  a  foot-hold  broke  at  the  same 
time,  giving  a  quick,  hair-raising  fall  to 
the  shelf  below.  A  few  moments'  rest 
was  necessary  to  quiet  the  nerves,  and 
greater  caution  was  exercised  to  prevent 
a  second  occurrence.  Price  told  me  after- 
ward that  he  spent  the  time  thinking  how 


such  a  great  mass  could  have  been  left 
balanced  on  such  a  small  summit. 

We  searched  the  entire  summit  for  some 
trace  of  a  previous  ascent,  but  found  none. 
There  was  no  record  of  any  kind,  no 
cairn  had  been  built,  as  is  the  custom,  and 
we  could  find  no  rocks  disturbed.  Along 
the  entire  summit  the  rocks  lay  so  loosely, 
so  nearly  balanced,  that  the  slightest 
touch  would  send  them  down  the  moun- 
tain, and  it  seemed  impossible  that  any 
one  had  ever  trodden  on  that  summit.  In 
many  places  the  rocks  were  fused  and 
burned,  apparently  by  lightning. 

Both  felt  that  the  return  by  the  route 
we  had  come  would  prove  unsafe,  and  we 
determined  to  try  some  other  way.  Cau- 


PRICE  AND   CURTIS  ON  THE  SUMMIT. 


he  could  have  taken  me  back  to  camp  had 
I  missed  the  shelf. 

Fr  was  here  that  we  first  saw  the  beauti- 
ful moss  campion,  unknown  on  the  lower 
levels,  which  splashed  the  dark  rocks  a 
beautiful  pink  with  its  flowers.  Masses  of 
the  moss  clung  in  the  slightest  crevice,' 
with  so  little  to  nourish  them  that  they 
were  already  wilting  in  the  sun. 

A  thousand  feet  of  such  climbing,  and 
we  turned  a  corner  of  rock  beneath  the 
last  crag  of  the  summit.  On  its  very  top 
rested  the  overhanging  rock  we  had  seen 
from  below.  For  thirty  feet  its  huge  bulk 
overhung,  and  it  seemed  marvelous  that 


tiousiy  dropping  from  rock  to  rock,  we 
worked  our  way  to  the  head  of  a  chimney, 
west  of  the  crest  by  which  we  had  climbed, 
then  down  it,  clinging  to  the  sides  as  we 
dropped  from  crevice  to  crevice.  It  was 
necessary  to  keep  very  close  together  to 
avoid  the  danger  of  falling  rocks.  With 
only  two  this  danger  was  not  as  great  as 
with  a  larger  party,  but  the  shower  of 
rocks  never  ceased.  The  descent  was  made 
very  rapidly,  and  in  fifty  minutes  we  were 
once  more  on  the  snowfield. 

A  day's  tramp  still  lay  before  us,  and  it 
was  then  after  twelve,  so  not  a  moment 
could  be  wasted.  Snow  slopes  that  had 


BEAUTIFUL  HANGING   GLACIERS   OF    MT.   SHUKSAN. 


118  OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 

taken  a  half  hour  to  climb  were  coasted  in  gathering   twilight.     Just   as   the     sta: 

less  than  a  minute,  and  no  matter  how  came  out,  we  stood  on  a  ridge  above  tl 

steep  the  slope,  we  felt  that  we  had  to  go  valley  taking  a  moment's  farewell  look  i 

down.     Long  shadows  lay  across  the  val-  the  mountain  we  felt  in  some  way  to  I 

leys,  but  their  charm  was  not  for  us ;  it  our  own,  its  dim  bulk  showing  faintly.    A 

seemed  impossible  for  our  exhausted  mus-  we  stood  thus  watching,  there  came  to  i 

cles  to  drag  us  up  the  steep  slopes,  but  we  the  distant  roar  of  an     avalanche     th< 

had  nothing  to  eat,  and  felt  that  we  must  seemed  to  us  like  a  farewell  gun  from  it 

make  camp  that  night,  so  kept  on  in  the  conquered  mountain. 


BY    ALOYSIUS    COLL 


THINK  you,  when  the  russet  luster 
Of  the  autumn  in  your  hair, 
Fades  away,  and  winters  cluster 
In  the  ashen  embers  there, 
Then  that  love,  to  you  returning, 

Shall  revive  the  springtime  glow, 
And,  her  sweet  young  blossoms  spurning, 
Dig  your  dead  wish  from  the  snow? 

Think  you,  when  the  merry  laughter 

From  your  lips  has  died  away, 
And  the  echoes  that  come  after 

Fade  to  silence  all  the  day, 
Then  that  love  shall  set  the  blunder 

Of  your  aching  heart  at  rest, 
And,  in  tones  of  mellow  thunder, 

Rouse  the  dead  wish  from  your  breast? 

Think  you,  when  the  days  have  banished, 

On  the  mists  of  doubt  that  rise, 
Every  smile,  and  mirth  has  vanished 

From  the  mirrors  of  your  eyes, 
Then  that  Love,  all  unbeholden, 

Shall  return  to  kiss  your  mouth, 
And  to  give  your  lips  the  olden 

Sunshine  of  the  smiling  South? 

Think  you,  maid — when  now  the  summer 

Paints  your  cheek  with  fragrant  bloom- 
All  too  soon  the  bold  newcomer, 

Winter  and  his  touch  of  doom ! 
Watch  for  Love;  when  first  you  meet  him, 

Bid  him  welcome  at  your  door — 
For  if  once  you  scorn  to  greet  him, 

He  may  come  again  no  more! 


LAGUNA  DEL  KEY  AT  DEL  MONTE. 


BY  WASHI:NTGTOX  DAVIS 


ILLUSTRATED    WITH    PHOTOGRAPHS. 


LL  who  seek  enchanted 
spots  where  they  can 
make  the  most  of 
happy  days  at  reason- 
able prices,  or  who 
may  be  driven  from 
the  troublous  cares  of 
business  or  office  toil 
to  find  relief  where  seabirds  spread  their 
lazy  wings  in  the  fragrant  ocean  breeze; 
where  nature  keeps  a  tryst  with  flowers, 
fields,  orchards  and  forests  overlooking  the 
sea  to  soothe  and  revive  the  weary  heart 
and  hand — all  men  and  women  who  long 
for  such  a  spot  will  rejoice  to  know  that 
this  place  has  been  found  for  them,  and 
is  now  being  prepared  by  experienced  men 
who  are  real  builders  of  California's 
greatness. 

Charming,  indeed,  through  winter, 
spring,  summer  and  autumn  is  Monterey 
Bay  and  its  beautiful  surrounding  cres- 
cent of  mountains,  hills  and  fields,  stretch- 
ing so  gently  down  to  its  miles  of  glisten- 
ing, velvety,  white  sand  beach.  Here  the 
rhythm  of  the  waves  has  a  peculiar  fasci- 
nation, for  there  is  never  a  storm.  It  is 
all  gentle,  yet  invigorating,  bracing,  bring- 
ing a  cheerfulness  that  has  no  aftermath. 


The  evening  wind  brings  ozone  from  the 
rising,  falling  bosom  of  the  Western  sea, 
where  float  the  ships  in  plain  view  at  their 
moorings,  while  the  morning  land  breeze 
returns  the  delicate  mountain  air.  So 
attractive  are  the  scenes,  beauties  and  ad- 
vantages of  living  at  Del  Monte  Heights 
that  my  pen  is  tempted  to  run  to  almost 
endless  lengths  and  breadths  of  poetic 
coloring,  yet  a  few  brief  touches  must  suf- 
fice. 

Whether  gathering  up  the  mosses,  shells 
and  things  put  out  by  the  sea  upon  its 
bordering  sands;  whether  seeking  historic 
relics,  sketching  and  painting  from  nature, 
trailing  through  real  sweet-smelling  old 
pine  forests,  following  a  lover's  bridle- 
path to  shady  nook  or  enchanting  solitude, 
drinking  at  the  many  invigorating  min- 
eral springs,  viewing  the  Government 
military  parades  as  they  face  the  morning 
sun  from  the  presidio,  dining  with  a  rav- 
enous appetite  and  a  splendid  menu  set 
before  you ;  whether  you  are  grave  or  gay, 
young  or  old,  Del  Monte  Heights,  one 
mile  east  of  the  famous  Del  Monte  Park 
and  Hotel,  as  a  seaside  resort,  winter  or 
summer  home,  offers  a  splendid  welcome 
and-  a  perennial  charm  to  all  who  love  and 


120 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


appreciate  nature's  bounties  embellished 
by  the  arts  of  man. 

Within  a  few  minutes'  walk  of  the  up- 
ward slope  at  Del  Monte  Heights  you  may 
reach  the  beach  and  see  a  great  fleet  of 
small  sail  busy  dragging  salmon  into  their 
boats.  You  may  do  this  yourself  before 
breakfast  if  you  like,  for  there  are  652 
kinds  of  fish  more  or  less  in  Monterey 
Bay,  and  nearly  all  of  them  are  eatable. 
It  costs  you  nothing  to  try  it,  and  if  you 
put  in  your  hook  or  net  you  are  almost 
sure  to  get  some  kind  of  a  bite.  Of  course, 
boating,  bathing  and  all  the  seashore  ac- 
cessories are  there  in  nature's  perfection. 

Then  to  the  west,  south  and  east  are  the 
mountains,  hills,  valleys,  ravines,  canyons, 
caves  and  trickling  streams.  One  of  these 
famous  canyons  is  called  the  "King's  Or- 
chard," just  south  of  Del  Monte  Heights, 
where  one  hundred  years  ago  the  Spanish 
priests  settled  and  planted  fruit  trees.  An 
old  pear  tree  is  still  growing  there.  Other 
vegetation  from  palm  tree  to  live  oak 
adorns  the  landscape  and  makes  the  homes 
for  big  and  small  game,  which  in  these 
days  are  represented  by  species  of  quail, 
squirrel,  rabbit,  coyote,  wolf,  mountain 
lion,  deer  and  bear.  You  may  hunt  these 
in  the  canyons,  foothills  and  mountains, 
If  you  are  too  restless  to  fish.  All  that  is 
necessary  is  the  most  ordinary  hunting 
equipment  and  observance  of  the  game 
laws.  Then  go  up  through  the  odorous 
pines,  where  stayrs  sang  in  the  long  ago, 
after  you  pass  the  groups  and  hedges  of 
the  celebrated  Monterey  cypress,  which  is 
abundant,  grows  anywhere,  is  formed  into 
any  shape,  and  has  a  fragrance  all  its 
own. 

Particularly  beautiful  is  Laguna  Del 
Eey  (the  lake  of  the  king),  lying  midway 
between  the  Del  Monte  Hotel  and  Del 
Monte  Heights.  This  lake  is  being  put  in- 
to enjoyable  shape  for  the  pleasure  of 
those  who  are  fortunate  enough  to  live  in 
this  neighborhood.  Popular  field  sports, 
such  as  golf,  polo,  tennis,  baseball  and 
other  outdoor  amusements  have  many 
devotees  here.  The  Del  Monte  race  track 
is  only  a  mile  south  of  this. 

Eiding,  driving  and  automobiling  are 
in  vogue  nearly  the  year  round.  The  fam- 
ous seventeen-mile  drive  around  the  point 
of  the  peninsula  has  a  different  interest- 
ing feature  for  every  mile.  The  Carmel 
Mission  church  is  one  of  these  features. 


It  was  the  home  of  the  founder  of  Califor- 
nia missions,  Father  Junipero  Serra. 
Around  to  the  west  of  it,  on  the  fine  drive, 
is  the  town  of  Pacific  Grove,  thence  to  the 
east  is  Monterey,  Del  Monte,  and  last  and 
best  of  all,  Del  Monte  Heights. 

Best,  of  all  is  Del  Monte  Heights,  for 
the  very  good  geographical,  topographies 
and  historical  reasons  that  the  people  whc 
laid  out  and  built  up  the  other  place 
along  the  north  side  of  the  peninsula  kne\ 
practically  nothing  about  city  buildin£ 
They  pitched  their  tents  in  fine  localities 
but  so  limited  in  area  that  the  available 
ground  for  building  has  long  since  beer 
taken  up,  and  it  is  next  to  impossible  foi 
these  towns  to  expand. 

But  modern  methods  of  building  a  towr 
are  now  being  applied  to  Del  Mont 
Heights,  which  is  to  be  decorated  by  al 
the  latest  methods  of  building  homes  anr 
houses  for  public  and  private  occupatioi 

Smart  are  the  gentlemen  who  are  doing 
this — wise  are  they  who  are  decoratii 
Del  Monte  Heights  with  a  fine  moderi 
town.  Among  them  are  George  W.  Phelpa 
— -who  was  one  of  the  pioneer  builders  of 
the  University  town  of  Berkeley,  and  per- 
haps had  more  to  do  with  its  upbuilding 
than  any  other  man. 

J.  Hall  Lewis,  who  organized  and 
founded  the  bank  of  Half  Moon  Bay, 
was  the  mainspring  of  the  activities 
at  that  place. 

A.  D.  Bowen  has  already  completed 
two  systems  of  railways,  and  is  now  en- 
gaged in  completing  the  Monterey,  Fresno 
and  Eastern.  He  is  one  of  the  most  suc- 
cessful railway  builders  on  the  Pacific 
Coast  ,i  not  on  the  continent. 

H.  W.  Postlethwaite,  a  prominent  capi- 
talist of  San  Francisco,  is  interested  in  a 
several  important  local  enterprises. 

These  gentlemen  chose  for  their  location 
a  tract  of  five  hundred  acres  of  land,  part 
of  which  was  formerly  called  Vista  Del 
Rey  (view  of  the  king.)  Around  Del 
Monte  Heights  is  the  king's  country.  The 
Spanish  fathers  knew  it  when  they  named 
it  Mont-el-rey  (Monterey),  mountain  of 
the  king;  Laguna  Del  Eey,  lake  of  the 
king;  Vista  Del  Eey,  view  of  the  king; 
Huerta  Del  Eey,  orchard  of  the  king.  But 
as  every  man  in  a  free  country  can  be  king 
for  himself,  he  can  go  to  this  former  king's 
country,  and  put  up  a  castle,  mansion, 
plain  home,  or  bungalow,  and  his  home 


122 


OVEKLAXD  MONTHLY. 


life  and  surroundings  will  be  good  enough 
for  any  king. 

Why  is  this  ?  Well,  if  the  reader  of  this 
will  pardon  me,  which  he  ought  to,  I  will 
answer  this  question  with  one  sentence, 
which  may  sound  exactly  as  though  I  were 
running  a  real  estate  boom,  but  I  am  not, 
though  this  is  the  concrete  truth : 

Del  Monte  Heights  is  next  door  to  Ho- 
tel Del  Monte ;  it  overlooks  Monterey  Bay, 
Monterey  City  and  Pacific  Grove,  facing 
the  United  States  Presidio;  it  is  within 
five  minutes'  walk  of  the  finest  fishing  on 
earth  or  in  the  sea;  the  climate  is  cool  in 


summer  and  warm  in  winter,  with  no  fog 
and  no  wind,  only  breeze;  it  is  alongside 
the  Southern  Pacific,  and  on  the  other 
side  is  a  new  railroad  being  built  on  an 
old  survey.  This  is  the  fine  location  which 
these  gentlemen_  have  chosen  on  which  to 
build  a  city  with  oiled  streets,  modern 
schools,  churches,  water  supply,  light  sup- 
ply, transportation,  including  a  complete 
electric  railway  system  throughout  the 
tract,  and  other  facilities  of  latest  civiliza- 
tion; and  these  men  have  the  ability  and 
experience  to  properly  decorate  Del  Monte 
Heights. 


POLO   AT   DEL   MONTE. 


THE  SKY  AND  THE  SEA 
AND  THE  EARTH 

BY    S.    M.     SALYER 

I  LOVE  you,  city  of  the  thousand  clouds, 
With  your  proud-sailed  ships  in  shifting  crowds. 
And  your  floods  of  sun  that  ever  pour 
Their  currents  strong  to  some  unknown  shore. 
I  love  you,  sky,  for  the  mystery, 
That  calls  my  spirit  up  to  thee ! 

I  love  you,  sea  of  the  thousand  smiles, 
Whose  laughter  sounds  o'er  changing  miles, 
With  your  low-sung  songs  of  tenderness 
Which  only  the  wide  heart  can  express. 
I  love  you,  sea,  for  your  sympathy, 
That  rests  the  weary  heart  of  me ! 

I  love  you,  earth  of  the  winding  ways, 
That  lead  me  on  thro'  the  endless  days, 
For  your  plan  of  hope  and  struggle  and  strife, 
And  your  zest  in  a  toil-begotten  life ! 
I  love  you,  earth,  as  you  beckon  me, 
On  your  paths  of  opportunity ! 


GRAND    BALCONY,    HEIDELBERG    CASTLE. 

EUROPEAN  HOTELS 

BY    FRED     GILBERT    BLAKESLEE 


ILLUSTRATED     WITH     PHOTOGRAPHS. 


of  the  most  import- 
ant questions  which 
presents  itself  to  tour- 
ists in  Europe  is  that  of 
the  art  of  living,  for 
no  matter  what  cities  or 
towns  the  tour  may  in- 
clude, what  galleries  or 
cathedrals  visited,  or  gaieties  indulged  in, 
it  is  primarily  necessary  to  have  a  place  in 
which  to  sleep  and  to  be  able  to  procure 
food  as  often  as  required.  Upon  arrival 
at  a  strange  city,  therefore,  the  first  ef- 
forts of  a  tourist  are  directed  towards  se- 
curing accommodation  in  some  hotel  suit- 
ed to  his  purse. 

The  American  and  the  European  hotel 
differ  in  many  respects.  In  the  latter  the 
spacious  office  with .  its  massive  counter, 
open  book,  and  key  rack,  is  missing.  The 
oilice  in  even  the  best  Continental  hotels 


is  usually  a  small  place,  known  as  the 
bureau,  where  one  simply  engages  rooms 
and  pays  bills.  It  is  not,  as  in  this  coun- 
try, a  place  where  men  smoke,  chat  and 
read  their  papers.  In  it,  telephone  and 
telegraph  booths,  newspaper  and  cigar 
stands  are  conspicuous  for  their  absence, 
and  the  ice  water  tank  is  an  unknown  lux- 
ury. 

In  many .  hotels  the  living  rooms  are 
lighted  by  candles  instead  of  gas  or  elec- 
tricity, and  guests  are  often  required  to 
furnish  their  own  soap.  Elevators,  known 
as  lifts,  have  in  recent  years  been  in- 
stalled in  most  of  the  larger  hotels,  but 
Europeans  seem  to  regard  them  as  a  some- 
what unsafe  means  of  conveyance,  and 
make  but  scant  use  of  them.  The  elevator 
is  arjt  to  be  working  upon  the  arrival  of 
a  guest,  but  stran^elv  out  of  order  at  other 
times.  At  one  hotel  at  which  the  author 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


stopped,  the  guests  were  required  to  oper- 
ate the  car  themselves,  and  send  it  back 
empty  when  they  were  through  with  it. 
All  European  hotels  that  have  elevators 
proudly  proclaim  the  fact  upon  their  bill- 
heads. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  many  of  tho 
smaller  hotels,  even  in  the  larger  cities, 
do  not  keep  open  all  night,  and  the  guest 
who  is  out  later  than  midnight  has  to  ring 
up  the  porter  in  order  to  oe  admitted.  In 
some  of  the  hotels  of  Paris,  the  porters 
have  an  ingenious  method  of  saving  them- 
selves the  trouble  of  arising  in  order  to 
admit  late  guests.  W'hen  the  hotel  is  closed 
for  the  night  the  porter  makes  up  a  cot 
bed  for  himself  in  some  handy  place,  con- 
nects a  string  with  the  latch  and  turns 
in  with  the  other  end  of  the  string  tied  to 
his  wrist.  Whenever  the  bell  rings,  he 
simply  pulls  the  string,  thus  lifting  the 
latch,  and  leaves  the  guest  to  open  and 
close  the  door,  get  his  own  key,  and  find 
his  way  to  his  room  as  best  he  can.  Imag- 
ine a  visitor  to  New  York  going  through 
an  experience  like  this. 

Manv  foreign  hotels  possess  great  inter- 
est for  the  traveler  on  account  of  the  as- 
sociations connected  with  them,  while 
others  are  famous  for  the  beauty  of 


their  surroundings.  To  the  former  class 
belong  the  Grand  in  Venice,  once  a  noble- 
man's mlace;  the  Chapman  in  Florence, 
a  former  residence  of  Pauline  Bonaparte; 
the  Mitre,  at  Oxford,  which  has  had  a 
continuous  existence  as  a  hotel  since  1400; 
and  the  Pare  at  Lugano,  which  was  an  old 
monastery.  In  the  latter  class  are  the 
Grand  at  Bellagio,  on  the  shore  of  lovely 
Lake  Como ;  the  Alps  at  Chamonix,  lying 
under  the  shadow  of  Mount  Blanc;  the 
Eigi  Kulm,  perched  on  the  summit  of  the 
Rigi,  and  the  Schloss  at  Heidelberg,  over- 
looking one  of  Europe's  most  beautiful 
ruins. 

As  regards  moderation  in  prices  charged 
for  accommodation,  the  foreign  hotel  far 
surpasses  our  own.  Good  rooms  can  be 
procured  in  high-class  hotels  in  France, 
Switzerland  or  Italy  for  sixty  cents  a  day, 
and  in  Germany  for  seventy-five.  In  Eng- 
land the  rates  are  slightly  higher,  but  even 
there  accommodation  in  the  finest  hotels 
can  be  secured  for  from  four  to  six  shill- 
ings per  ni^ht,  and  in  the  smaller  ones  for 
two  shillinp-s  sixpence. 

The  apartments  furnished  at  these 
prices  are  not,  of  course,  the  most  expen- 
sive, but  correspond  to  those  costing  from 
one  to  two  dollars  in  an  American  house. 


GRAND   HOTEL,    VENICE. 


RIGI     KULM     HOTEL,     RIGI. 


If  one  arranges  for  a  pension  rate  (one 
that  includes  meals  and  lodgings)  it  is 
possible  to  live  well  in  almost  any  part 
of  Europe  for  $2  a  day. 

London  has  a  number  of  what  are 
known  as  Temperance  Hotels.  They  aro 
usually  neat,  quiet  places,  largely  patron- 
ized by  the  clergy  and  ladies  traveling  un- 
attended, and  at  most  of  them  good  board 
and  lodging  can  be  had  for  a  dollar  and  a 
half  a  day. 

Paris  possesses  manir  Hotel  Meublees — • 
places  where  apartments  can  be  hired  by 
the  day  or  week,  but  where  meals  are  not 
served,  except,  perhaps,  coffee  and  rolls  in 
the  morning,  and  for  the  tourist  of  limited 
means,  no  better  arrangement  can  be  made 
than  for  him  to  stop  at  one  of  these  lit- 
tle hotels  and.  dine  in  the  various  restau- 
rants, and  cafes  that  are  scattered  broad- 
cast all  over  the  city. 

In  many  of  the  smaller  hotels  through- 
out Eurone,  candles  only  are  furnished  for 
lights  in  the  sleeping  rooms.  One  candle 
is  allowed  to  each  room ;  if  more  are  or- 
dered an  extra  charge  is  made.  Some 
economically  minded  guests  adopt  the  plan 
of  carrvino-  awav  the  partiallv  consumed 
candle  of  one  hotel  for  use  in  the  next, 
thus  securing  increased  illumination  with- 
out extra  expense. 

The  European  ideas  in  regard  to  heat 
are  in  a  primitive  state.  Steam  heaters 


are  practically  unknown  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Atlantic,  and  (rooms  are  warmed  by 
means  of  fire  places  or  grates.  Germany 
uses  stoves  almost  exclusively ;  great  tall 
white  porcelain  affairs  that  look  like 
monuments  in  a  grave-yard,  and  as  Mark 
Twain  aptly  puts  it,  "keep  you  thinking 
of  death  when  you  ought  to  be  enjoying 
your  travels."  Europeans  seem  to  require 
less  heat  than  do  Americans,  a  temperature 
of  from  50  to  60  degrees  beinp-  considered 
quite  comfortable  for  a  living  room. 

In  Germany  they  have  a  curious  concep- 
tion of  what  constitutes  a  bed.  Unlike 
other  mortals,  the  German  sleeps  by  lying 
on  a  mattress  and  putting  a  feather  bed 
over  him,  and  either  feathers  are  expensive 
in  that  country  or  else  the  bed  makers  are 
laboring  under  the  delusion  that  the  Ger- 
mans are  a  race  of  dwarfs,  for  the  bed  is 
never  by  any  accident  long  enough,  and  if 
one  'happens  to  have  the  misfortune  to  be 
very  much  over  five  feet  in  height,  he  has 
to  be  doubled  up  like  a  contortionist  in 
order  to  be  covered  at  all  points  at  once. 

The  service  in  most  of  the  hotels  of 
Euronp  is  excellent,  and  in  some  respects 
superior  to  that  in  our  own  hotels.  Cer- 
tainly a  person  unacquainted  with  any  lan- 
guage but  his  own  fares  far  better  abroad 
than  he  would  at  home.  The  waiters,  por- 
ters and  maids  all  speak  from  three  to 
five  languages,  and  are  as  courteous  a  lot 


HEIDELBERG  CASTLE  SEEN  FROM  THE  SCHLOSS  HOTEL. 


HOTEL  DU  PARC  BUILDING,  WITH  TOWER  LUGANO. 


EUROPEAN    HOTELS. 


12? 


of  people  as  it  would  be  possible  to  find 
anywhere. 

When  leaving  a  hotel  a  guest  is  pre- 
sented with  a  written  statement  of  his 
account,  in  which  each  item  (such  as  lodg- 
ing, breakfast,  dinner,  etc.)  is  charged  sep- 
arately, and  it  is  well  to  scan  this  bill 
closely  before  paying  it.  Hotel  keepers 
are,  as  a  rule,  honest,  but  "errors  in  book- 
keeping," which  are  rarely  in  favor  of  the 
guest,  are  by  no  means  uncommon. 

Persons  who  stop  at  a  hotel  upon  what 
we  call  the  American  plan,  should  beware 
of  ordering  extras  that  are  not  included 


in  the  menu,  for  such  extras  are  often 
charged  for  at  excessive  rates.  Coffee,  for 
instance,  is  only  served  at  breakfast  at 
some  hotels ;  if  ordered  at  any  other  time, 
it  is  an  extra  and  almost  invariably  costs 
twenty  cents  a  cup. 

It  is  no  longer  believed  that  all  Ameri- 
cans are  rich,  and  the  tourist  from  the 
"States"  who  asks  for  what  he  wants  will 
receive  fair  treatment  and  be  regarded 
with  respect;  but  the  man  who  lets  the 
landlord  do  as  he  pleases  with  him  will 
naturally  be  looked  upon  as  an  easy  mark, 
and  be  very  apt  to  be  bled  accordingly. 


THE    EXILE 

BY    F.    W.    K. 

YOUR  heart  had  held  me  all  the  years, 
Until  it  seemed  my  home. 
The  web  you  wove  to  bind  the  spell 

Is  tangled — and  I  roam; 
And  you  must,  grieving,  hide  that  grief, 

The  mother-love  and  pain, 
Until  the  knowledge  of  your  loss 
Shall  lead  me  home  again. 

Is  life  so  full  without  you  now — 

Is  there  no  loneliness, 
No  sudden  sting  of  memory 

When  other  hands  caress? 
Is  life  so  free  from  other  ties 

Than  ihose  the  hour  brings, 
That  Time  may  not  turn  back  a  leaf 

To  sweet,  familiar  things? 

I  miss  you  so  I  do  not  dare 

Retrace  to  count  the  cost! 
Nor  scan  the  future,  swept  so  bare 

Of  all  beloved,  and  lost: 
Yet  deeper  than  this  anguish  lies 

The  fear  that  I,  some  day, 
Shall  then  regain  love's  heritage, 

When  you  have  passed  away. 


ON    THE    HOME    TRAIL 


BY    MAUDE    DE    COU 


[HE  LITTLE  party  had 
been  on  the  road  for 
three  weeks.  The  herd 
of  Indian  cattle,  in- 
tractable from  the  start, 
had  lost  little  of  its 
skittishness.  A  series 
of  night  stampedes, 
each  followed  by  a  laborious  round-up, 
had  left  the  men  benumbed  with  weari- 
ness. Ten  miles  to  the  north  lay  the 
Canadian  river,  its  current  swollen  with 
spring  rains,  its  banks  lined  with  miles 
of  impenetrable  underbrush. 

"Well,  boys,"  said  Hartley,  "it  just 
can't  be  helped.  We've  got  to  hire  some 
Indians  to  get  us  across  that  river  or  we 
will  lose  half  the  herd  in  the  timber." 

Jenkins  demurred.  "Where'll  you  git 
help,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  You  can't  pick  it 
up  jist  anywheres.  These  Creek  Injuns  air 
worse  than  nothin',.  .They've  got  too  much 
nigger  in  'em.  I  kin  stand  one  alone; 
but  nigger  an'  Injun  mixed  is  too  much 
f  er  me." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  assented  Hartley.  "It's 
a  bad  business  at  best;  but  we  can't  cross 
that  river  without  help.  It  will  likely 
swim  the  herd  for  a  hundred  yards,  and  if 
they  should  get  to  milling  we'll  lose  every 
hoof  of  them.  Then  there's  the  timber.  A 
stampede  in  that  brush  would  cost  us  a 
weeks'  work  in  a  roundup." 

No  one  contradicted  him.  Every  man  in 
the  crowd  knew  that  he  was  right. 

After  a  short  consultation,  Hartley 
went  back  to  a  house  where  they  had  seen 
a  white  woman,  and  where,  with  her  as- 
sistance as  interpreter,  he  hired  two  young 
Indians  who  were  supposed  to  know  the 
country.  The  guides  could  not  speak- 
more  than  half  a  dozen  words  of  English. 
They  were  able,  however,  to  follow  Hart- 
ley's directions,  evidently  understanding 
many  words  which  they  could  not  use.  Jim 
Doty  and  Harris  declared  that  "them  In- 
juns could  talk  if  they  would."  The  others 
eyed  the  red  men  suspiciously,  but  to  the 
surprise  of  all,  Jenkins  defended  them.  In 
fact,  he  rather  cultivated  their  acquaint- 
ance. He  had  found  their  one  vulnerable 


point.  They  were  fond  of  tobacco.  After 
learning  this,  Jenkins  invariably  divided 
with  them.  Occasionally  other  Indians 
would  appear  and  ride  along  silently  for 
an  hour  at  a  time,  but  they  would  at  last 
yield  to  the  seduction  of  a  "chaw."  They 
never  spoke,  but  their  expressive  "ugh"  as 
they  returned  the  plug,  evinced  the  liveli- 
est satisfaction.  One  of  them  was  even 
seen  to  smile. 

About  four  o'clock  Hartley  began  to 
grow  uneasy.  He  knew  that  they  should 
have  been  at  the  river  by  this  time,  and 
that  it  would  be  awkward  for  them  to 
reach  the  ford  too  late.  To  cross  after  dark 
was  impossible,  and  to  camp  in  the  timber 
was  a  riskv  business.  They  traveled  on 
Slowly,  hoping  against  hope  'that  they 
might  find  a  break  in  the  continuous 
stretch  of  timber.  Just  at  sunset  they 
reached  the  river,  a  torrent  of  swirlii.0 
muddv  water  with  almost  perpendicular 
banks.  Hartley  was  desperate.  He  furi- 
ously demanded  of  the  Indians  why  they 
had  brought  him  to  such  a  ford.  They 
shook  their  heads  in  vague  deprecation. 

To  cross  the  ford  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion, and  as  it  was  a  half  day's  journey 
back  to  the  edge  of  the  woods,  the  only 
thing  to  do  was  to  go  into  camp.  The 
guides  signified  their  willingness  to  do  a 
double  share  of  watch.  The  white  men, 
however,  did  not  know  whether  it  was  to 
atone  for  the  blunder  or  to  find  a  chance 
for  more  mischief.  There  were  no  jokes 
at  the  evening  meal.  Even  Jenkins,  tha 
jovial,  was  silent,  as  the  black  coffee,  corn 
bread  and  bacon  went  the  rounds.  After 
supper,  he  divided  the  last  of  his  tobacco 
with  the  guides,  picketed  his  pony,  and 
started  out  to  herd  until  midnight.  Hart- 
ley, Harris  and  Tobe  retired  to  the  wagon 
to  get  a  little  sleep,  preparatory  to  watch- 
ing through  the  hardest  part  of  the  night, 
from  one  o'clock  until  morning. 

All  went  well  during  the  first  watch.  At 
one  o'clock,  Jenkins  and  his  companions 
returned  to  the  wagon  and  roused  the 
others. 

"Evervthing  quiet  so  far,"  said  Jim, 
"but  the  cattle  are  uneasy.  Don't  let  that 


ON  THE  HOME  TRAIL. 


129 


dog  follow  you,  and  keep  an  eye  on  them 
-guides." 


The  herd,  -which  had  been  driven  into 
a  spot  somewhat  clear  from  underbrush, 
was  nearly  all  lying  down.  The  animals 
seemed  quiet,  but  now  and  then  you  could 
hear  a  long  snoring  breath,  .which  meant 
mischief.  The  two  guides  were  awake, 
seemingly  intent  on  their  duty.  The 
white  men  were  almost  asleep.  Suddenly 
the  old  bell-cow  started  pell-mell  across 
the  clearing,  half  a  dozen  others  after  her. 
The  Indian  guide  was  on  hand  to  stop 
the  incipient  stampede.  For  a  moment 
it  seemed  that  the  danger  was  over;  then 
there  was  a  startled  movement  in  another 
part  of  the  herd.  Hartley  and  Harris 
started  toward  the  disturbance,  but  it  was 
too  late.  A  roar  as  of  thunder  resounded 
through  the  timber.  Above  the  sound  of 
trampling  hoofs  rose  the  hoarse  bawling 
of  the  calves  and  their  mothers.  The  herd- 
ers, dodging  behind  trees,  watched  the 
confused  mass  of  crowding  bodies  and 
toeing  horns.  The  oround  rocked  as  in 
an  earthquake.  The  forest  trees  seemed 
moving  as  fast  as  the  terrified  cattle.  It 
was  over  in  a  moment;  the  herd  disap- 
peared in  the  timber,  leaving  the  men 
staring  at  each  other  in  helpless  anger. 
There  was  not  a  hoof  left  except  the 
mooly  cow,  which  had  been  tied  up  to 
milk. 

"Well,  boys,"  said  Hartley,  "let's  go  to 
bed.  No  use  staying  here  to  herd  old 
mooly." 

The  advice  was  sensible.  For  the  first 
time  in  weeks,  every  member  of  the  party 
went  to  bed;  but  their  slumbers  were  un- 
sound. Before  daybreak  the  camp  was 
astir.  When  the  sun  rose,  breakfast  was 
already  over,  the  horses  were  saddled  and 
the  men  were  ready  to  round  up  the  cattle. 
Jim  stayed  in  camp  to  look  after  things 
and  to  care  for  the  herd  as  it  should  be 
brought  in.  He  was  not  much  afraid,  for 
he  knew  that  the  Indians  were  cowards 
in  daylight;  but  he  loaded  his  shot-gun 
and  stood  it  conspicuously  by  the  wagon. 
All  morning  the  men  brought  in  bunch 
after  bunch  of  cattle,  until  by  noon  they 
had  rounded  up  at  least  five  hundred  head. 
They  then  concluded  to  cross  the  river  and 
push  out  on  the  onen  prairie  beyond. 

At  three  o'clock,  the  herd  was  on  the 
prairie,  where  a  count  showed  that  thirty 
head  were  still  missing.  Jenkins  favored 


abandoning  the  lost  cattle  and  getting  out 
with  what  they  had.  It  was  fifteen  miles 
to  Muskogee,  and  he  was  out  of  tobacco. 

Hartley  laughed.  "No,  Jenkins,  you'll 
have  to  suffer  for  af  while  longer.  Tobe 
and  I  will  make  one  more  effort.  We'll  go 
back  to  where  we  hired  the  Indians,  while 
the  rest  of  you  stay  here  and  herd." 

Jenkins  groaned,  but  succumbed. 

"Come  on,  Tobe !"  said  Hartley,  "we'll 
get  those  cattle  or  we'll  bring  back  a  dead 
Injun  or  two." 

Eeluctantly,  Tobe  climbed  into  the  sad- 
dle. Both  men  were  already  wearied  be- 
yond measure.  Fifteen  miles  lay  between 
them  and  the  cabin  where  they  had  hired 
the  guides.  When  they  reached  there,  the 
sun  was  already  low  in  the  west.  As  Hart^ 
ley  dismounted,  he  noticed  on  the  back 
porch  a  tub  of  fresh  beef. 

"Look  ihere,  Tobe,"  he  laughed,  "we've 
found  one  of  the  thirty." 

In  response  to  Hartley's  rap,  the  white 
woman  came  to  -the  door. 

"Where  are  the  boys  ?"  he  enquired  con- 
fidently. "I've  come  after  the  rest  of  the 
cattle." 

The  woman  turned  pale  under  her  sun- 
burn. 

"They're  out  huntin'  fer  'em,"  she  ans- 
wered. "They  h'aint  bin  here  sence  morn- 
ing." 

Hartley  knew  that  she  lied.  Feeling 
that  not  only  the  Indians,  but  the  cattle, 
were  not  far  away,  he  turned  away  irreso- 
lutely. 

"Say,  Hartley,"  said  Tobe  in  a  low 
voice,  "there's  a  house  over  east  a  ways 
where  a  Kentuckian  lives.  I  found  it  the 
other  day  huntin'  fer  a  spring.  Let's 
make  him  keep  us  over  night." 

Hartley  assented.  He  felt  tired  enough 
to  go  into  camp  for  a  week.  They  found 
the  Kentuckian  to  be  a  hospitable  fellow, 
ready  enough  to  entertain  strangers  for 
the  mere  pleasure  of  their  company. 

"Yes,  siree,"  he  declared  with  emphasis, 
"if  you'd  a  lived  among  these  Injuns  as 
long  as  I  have,  you'd  be  glad  enough  to 
see  anybody  ez  would  talk.  Kain't  they 
talk  English  ?  Of  course  they  kin.  Talk 
ez  good  ez  anybody  when  they  want  to. 
But  the  pesky  varmints  'ud  rather  set 
aroun'  an'  grunt  than  to  say  anything  like 
white  folks." 

Tobe  and  Hartley  found  that  Mrs.  Jep- 
son  was  as  hospitable  as  her  husband.  She 


130 


OVERLAND  MONTH LY. 


was  gaunt  and  unlovely.  They  knew  that 
she  smoked  a  clav  pipe  and  more  than  sus- 
pected that  she  used  snuff,  but  the  supper 
which  she  provided  for  them  gained  for 
her  the  reverence  that  the  ancient  Greeks 
might  have  paid  to  Vesta. 

Jepson  listened  with  interest  to  the 
story  of  the  Indian  guides.  There  was  no 
doubt  in  his  mind  that  the  lost  cattle  wert 
hidden  somewhere  near. 

"We'll  find  'em  ia  the  mornin ',"  he  as- 
sured Hartley.  "Them  Injuns  has  hid  'em 
in  the  bresh." 

Jepson  proved  to  be  a  prophet.  The 
cattle  were  found  in  a  corral  not  a  mile 
away.  Three  Indian  ponies  were  tied  near 
the  corral,  but  not  an  Indian  was  in  sight. 
Hartley  decided  to  take  the  cattle  into 
camp  at  once.  They  traversed  without 
further  adventure  the  weary  miles  back 
to  the  river,  where  Jepson  joined  them.  He 
had  not  thought  it  best  to  accompany 
them  on  their  drive  lest  he  p~et  into  trou- 
ble with  his  Indian  neighbors. 

The  little  bunch  of  cattle  did  not  want 
to  cross  the  river.  The  ravs  of  the  after- 
noon sun  turned  the  ford  into  a  path  of 
dazzling  light  before  which  the  timid 
brutes,  unable  to  see  the  further  shore, 
huddled  together  obstinately.  At  length 
the  three  men,  by  dint  of  much  shouting 
and  an  unmerciful  use  of  their  heavy 
poads,  forced  the  poor  creatures  into  the 
water.  Just  as  Hartley  had  feared,  the 
cattle  began  milling  in  the  middle  of  the 
stream.  Frightened  and  dazed,  the  lead- 
ers turned  with  the  current;  then  the  en- 
tire bunch  began  swimming  in  a  gradual- 
ly narrowing  circle,  which  drifted  rapidly 
down  the  stream.  All  that  could  be  seen 
above  the  turbid  water  was  a  revolving 
group  of  horned  heads  that  might  have 
been  covered  by  a  good-sized  blanket.  Oc- 
casionally one  of  the  terrified  brutes  would 
climb  almost  out  of  the  water  on  the 
backs  of  the  others.  Then  a  head  would 
go  under.  The  men  rode  fearlessly  among 
the  cattle  with  yells  and  blows,  trying  to 


break  up  the  mill.  If  only  one  of  the  lead- 
ers could  be  made  to  start  for  the  opposite 
bank,  the  others  would  follow.  Jepson 
rode  clear  of  the  struggling  cattle,  slipped 
off  his  pony  and  struck  it  a  smart  blow 
with  his  whip,  starting  it  for  the  shore. 
Then  he  swam  around  the  herd  until  he 
was  directly  below  it.  The  poor  brutes 
looked  at  him  piteously.  The  big  Ken- 
tuckian  seized  one  powerful  steer  by  tho 
horns,  at  the  same  time  striking  him  a 
vicious  blow  on  the  jaw.  The  creature 
made  a  lunge  which  Jepson  narrowly  es- 
caped. That  lunge  broke  the  mill.  The 
steer,  turned  from  his  course,  struck  out 
for  the  bank.  JeDSon,  still  swimming 
among  the  struggling  cattle,  turned  one 
after  another  toward  the  shore.  Losing  his 
whip  in  the  melee,  he  still  fought  on  with 
his  wet  sombrero.  Tobe  and  Hartley 
stuck  valiantly  on  the  flank.  At  last  they 
gained  the  shore.  Two  cows,  weakened 
by  the  long  struggle  until  they  were  un- 
able to  make  a  landing,  were  swept  on 
down  the  stream.  The  rest  soon  stood 
dripping  on  the  bank  one  hundred  yards 
below  the  ford. 

Hartley  wrung  Jepson's  water-soaked 
hand. 

''Well,  old  fellow,"  he  said,  "we  certain- 
ly owe  you  the  whole  bunch.  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  you,  thev  would  all  be  at  the 
bottom  of  the  Canadian,  and  we  might  be 
with  them." 

When  thev  finally  reached  the  herd,  a 
careful  count  showed  that  one  animal  wi3 
still  missing.  It  was  a  fine  red  cow  be- 
longing to  Jenkins.  Then  Hartley  remem- 
bered the  beef. 

"I  thought  we  had  them  all,"  he  said; 
"but  that  must  have  been  Jenkins's  cow. ' 

Jenkins  swore. 

"Sich  ongratitude,"  said  he.  "I  was 
the  only  man  in  camp  that  treated  them 
Injuns  white,  an'  now  here  I  am  without 
my  red  cow  and  fifteen  miles  from  any  ter- 
baccer." 


THE    MRS.    AND    I   VISIT    PISA 


BY     WALT 

ILLUSTRATED     WITH     PHOTOGEAPHS. 


"THE     MRS." 


E  WEEE  doing  one  of 
the  most  eventful  things 
of  our  lives — gazing 
out  of  the  car  windows 
upon  the  Mediterra- 
nean. It  was  evening, 
and  the  sun  was  dip- 
ping behind  the  watery 

horizon.    The  sea  was  a  blaze  of  light — a- 

dream  of  colored  crystal. 

Our  companions   spoke  Italian,   which 

was  natural,  but  we  heard  them  say  Elba. 

I  said  to  the  Mrs. :  "We  must  be  in  sight 

of  the  Island   of  Elba,  where   Napoleon 


was  exiled  and  from  which  he  cleverly 
escaped/' 

The  island  is  five  miles  from  the  coast 
of  Italy,  and  rising  to  our  feet  the  view 
obtained  abroad  the  undulating  sea  was 
that  of  a  gradually  sinking  piece  of  land. 

There  was  a  young  man  in  our  com- 
partment who  was  not  an  Italian — we 
settled  that  point ! 

"But  fwhat  is  he !'  'expostulated  the 
Mrs.  with  a  frown. 

"Well,  he's  not  a  German,  'cause  he's 
no  beard.  He  looks  and  behaves  like  an 
Englishman — watch'  him !" 

And  Cockney-bred  he  was,  for  just  then 
he  introduced  himself.  He  had  heard  us 
babbling  in  English.  He  said  that  he 
was  employed  in  Italy  and  was  on  his 
way  home  to  spend  the  Christmas  holi- 
days, and  was  extremely  glad  of  our 
company. 

He  turned  toward  the  window. 

"This  is  where  the  Cararra  marble 
quarries  are  located,"  he  began.  "It  is, 
as  you  know,  the  finest  marble  in  the 
world,  and  for  centuries  sculptors  have 
preferred  it  to  all  others.  Most  of  the 
great  statues  in  Europe  have  been  chisel- 
ed cut  of  marble  extracted  from  these 
vast  quarries.  Do  you  see  the  men  up 
there !" 

He  was  the  first  Englishman  I  had  met 
who  could  tell  me  something  I  did  not 
know. 

Our  guide-book  had  alluded  to  Cararra 
marble  whenever  it  expatiated  on  a  statue 
— but  I  didn't  know  where  they  got  it — • 
now  I  knew! 

The  workmen  take  their  time  in  ex- 
tracting Cararra  from  the  loins  of  the 
earth.  They  use  no  machinery  of  any 
kind.  Everything  is  done  by  hand.  They 
have  never  heard  or  read  of  Carnegie  and 
his  wonderful  steel  accomplishments.  Nor 
do  they  understand  that  huge  machines 
can  do  a  week's  work  in  a  day,  at  much 
less  cost.  It  is  not  plain  to  these  Roman 
heirs  that  anything  can  be  gained  by  liv- 
ing a  week  in  a  day. 

But   a   sculptor   never   telegraphs    for 


132 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


Cararra  marble  and  says :  "Kush  one  block 
Cararra.  Quick — oh !" 

"There  she  is — look!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
excitedly.  I  turned  and  saw  a  brown- 
eyed  maid  of  Italy  washing  waists,  petti- 
coats and  handkerchiefs  in  the  winding 
brook  by  the  embankment.  In  a  moment 
the  train  had  carried  us  beyond  the  sight 
qf  her. 

Oh oo,  choo,  choo  went  the  little  toy- 
like  engine  along  the  moonlit  banks  of  the 
Mediterranean,  and  as  tfcihe  town  clock 
was  tolling  the  bed-time  hour  of  ten,  we 
choo-chooed  into  Pisa,  the  seat  of  the 
famous  leaning  tower.  As  we  tumbled 
through  the  door  into  the  waiting  room, 
an  Italian  shouted,  "The  Washington 
Hotel !  Two  doors  from  the  station. 
Hotel  for  Americans." 

Says  I  to  the  Mrs. :  "Hear  that !  Wash- 
ington Hotel  two  doors  away!  It  sounds 
like  home.  Let's  investigate,  but  don't 
look  at  him.  Pretend  you  don't  see  him. 
Then  he  won't  want  to  collect  a  fee  for 
the  information." 

Down  the  street  we  ambled,  and  soon 
saw  the  sign  dangling  out  over  the  pave- 
ment. We  entered  the  door,  and  I  tried 
to  tell  the  proprietor  that  we  were  from 
America,  and  that  I  had  once  picked  a 
souvenir  pebble  from  George  Washing- 
ton's grave  at  Mt.  Vernon;  that  we  had 
a  State  and  a  city  named  after  him,  and 
that  1  was  pleased  to  learn  he  had  christ- 
ened his  hotel  in  George's  honor,  but  he 
seemed  never  to  have  heard  of  George 
Washington.  My  design  was  to  impress 
him  with  my  importance,  and  have  him 
startle  me,  when  We  were  ready  to  leave, 
bv  saying,  "Great  man!  You  doos  owe 
me  no-ting." 

In  this,  however,  I  was  sorely  disap- 
pointed— but  disappointments  are  rather 
common  with  me. 

It  was  at  the  Washington  Hotel  that 
the  waiter  confided  to  me  this  very  im- 
portant fact  as  we  were  about  to  depart. 
"You  won't  forget  that  I  am  the  head 
waiter !" 

"No,  indeed,  I  won't  as  long  as  I  live — 
I  congratulate  you  on  the  promotion !" 
Which  all  the  more  strained  our  relations. 

The  head  waiter  speaks  the  Queen's 
English.  He  attends  to  the  wants  of  Eng- 
lish guests  and  he  expects  a  tip — a  great 
big  one. 

This  waiter  had  no  doubt  been  forgot- 


ten before,  and  he  was  not  going  to  be 
overlooked  again  by  so  amiable  looking  a 
gentleman  as  I  am,  but  through  his  im- 
portunity such  was  his  fate.  He  hadn't 
done  a  thing  for  us,  anyway,  except  pour 
out  the  madam's  tea  on  his  own  initiative, 
which  became  cold  before  she  was  ready 
to  drink  it. 

I  had  demonstrated  to  my  own  satisfac- 
tion that  tipping  wa=  bad  for  my  purse, 
so  I  usually  had  the  Mrs.  settle  for  all 
bills  or  I  dropped  the  ready  change  on  the 
table  and  ran  as  if  tardy  for  my  train. 
The  Mrs.  was  by  nature  not  a  tipper. 

I  had  read  about  the  leaning  tower  of 
Pisa,  and  copied  a  picture  of  it  in  my 
Physical  Geography.  I  was  now  within 
half  a  mile  of  the  original. 

We  ate  breakfast,  and  set  out  to  see  the 
wonder. 

My  geography  teacher  did  not  exagger- 


TO  MT.  TAMALPAIS. 


133 


ate — the  tower  really  leaned  as  much  as 
the  old  elm  on  our  farm,  under  which  I 
took  shelter  so  often  during  the  summer 
showers,  and  at  which  spot  Miss  Vernou 
found  me  when  she  called  to  see  papa 
concerning  my  grades. 

We  scanned  the  tower,  walked  all 
around  it  several  times,  and  then  felt  an 
ambition  to  climb  it. 

After  climbing  a  long,  dark  and  wind- 
ing stairway,  we  got  to  the  top — the  Mrs. 
was  brea thins:  heavily.  There  was  a  rail- 
ing round  the  landin^  and  we  didn't  get 
giddy  nor  afraid.  The  wind  was  blow- 
ing at  the  rate  the  Empire  State  Express 
travels,  and  the  Mrs.  let  on  she  could 
feel  the  tower  wiggle  and  shake.  I  asked 
her  to  prove  it,  whereupon  she  got  mad 
— the  first  time  in  a  month. 

I  stretched  over  the  marble  balustrade 
on  the  leaning  side,  as  I  had  a  craving 
to  see  the  base  of  the  tower. 

Wihereupon  the  Mrs.  gave  an  "Oh !"  and 
screamed  so  that  the  Italian  workmen  be- 
low came  rushing  up  to  see  what  was 
wrong. 

I  didn't  succeed  in  spying  the  base.  Af- 
ter we  descended  I  found  that  I  could 
stand  on  Mother  Earth  thirteen  feet  from 
the  base  and  still  be  protected  from  the 
rain  bir  the  leaning  body. 

As  I  was  busily  making  the  ground 
experiments,  the  Mrs.,  standing  at  a  dis- 


tance, took  occasion  to  remark  that  if 
the  tower  should  topple  over  while  1  was 
in  the  shadow  of  its  brow,  why,  she'd  have 
to  go  home  alone. 

But  I  answered:  "No,  you  wouldn't — 
only  I'd  be  with  the  baggage." 

The  tickets  admitting  to  the  tower  w  ?rc 
on  sale  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away.  In  this 
manner  they  control  the  traffic.  To  pre- 
vent the  tower's  losing  its  equilibrium, 
they  allow  only  a  certain  number  of 
pounds  to  ascend  to  the .  top  at  one  time. 
It's  a  sane  precaution,  although  occasion- 
ally inconvenient.  As  I  weigh  five  pounds 
less  than  Shakespeare  and  the  Mrs.  about 
as  much  as  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning, 
our  combined  weight  being  less  than  that 
of  James  J.  Hill,  they  did  not  bother  to 
weigh  us  before  handing  over  the  tickets. 

The  tower  is  comely  and  built  of  colored 
marble,  but  other  towers  of  Italy  are  come- 
ly and  composed  of  the  same  material. 
The  tower  of  Pisa  owes  its  fame  to  the 
fact  that  it  leans.  No  one  knows  why  it 
leans.  Some  think  the  builders  designed 
the  tower  to  lean,  while  others  contend 
that  the  foundation  settled  on  the  lean- 
ing side.  I  have  not  yet  made  up  my 
mind  how  the  tower  came  to  lean,  but  I 
have  made  up  my  mind  that  the  leaning 
tower  of  Pisa  is  worth  going  to  see  with- 
out delay — who  knows  but  that  the  next 
earthquake  may  crumble  it! 


TO    MT.    TAMALPAIS 

BY    RUTH    PRICE 

THE  sunset  lights  and  deepening  shadows  fall. 
A  sky  of  burnished  gold  around  is  hung, 
Gilding  the  veil  of  rainbow  mist,  wind-flung. 
To  thee  the  Western  breezes  softly  call, 
Singing  their  way  through  thy  Sequoias  tall ; 

To  thee  the  song  of  ocean  deep  is  sung 
By  whispering  voices  in  an  unknown  tongue ; 
And  every  heart  thy  beauty  doth  enthrall. 
Alone  thou  art  above  the  rolling  hill, 
And  mystery  in  every  shadow  lies. 
Ah,  silent  goddess  of  this  Western  land, 

Each  swiftly  passing  day  some  heart  grows  still, 
Some  question  asked  of  thee  returns  and  dies, 

But  thou  through  changing  years  unchanged  doth  stand. 


THE    LOVE    OF    CHANCE 


BY    A.    E.    LONG 


HEEE  WERE  various 
reasons  why  Jerry  Lull 
was  not  popular  in  the 
Cummins  County  settle- 
ments. The  primary 
reason  was  that  he  was 
not  a  sociable  man,  and 
desired  no  large  ac- 
quaintance. He  carried  his  tall,  sinewy 
form  about  the  streets  of  Littleton  with 
his  measured  and  tiger-like  tread,  and 
deigned  to  speak  to  few  who  passed.  His 
heavy  jaw  was  set  like  a  vice.  When  he 
spoke  at  all,  he  spoke  through  his  clenched 
teeth.  He  never  laughed ;  he  never  grinned 
— he  never  even  smiled,  and  from  under 
his  heavy,  dark  brows  his  hard,  gray  eyes 
sent  only  a  stony  stare.  The  single  spur 
with  one  broken  point  which  was  always 
worn  on  his  left  heel,  designated  him  as  a 
man  who  spent  much  of  his  time  in  the 
saddle. 

And  this  was  one  of  the  factors  that 
rendered  him  a  suspicious  character  in 
the  eyes  of  the  settlers.  That  a  man 
should  be  spending  so  much  of  his  time 
on  horseback  and  vet  have  no  definitely 
known  occupation  was  a  matter  to  attract 
attention.  'But  the  most  noteworthy  ob- 
jection to  Mr.  Lull  was  that  he  made  his 
home  with  old  Stub  Jones,  who  was  be- 
lieved to  have  been  formerly  in  league 
with  the  Curly  Grimes  band  of  horse- 
thieves  of  the  Upper  Sand  Hill  country. 
And  so  it  was  that,  whenever  Lull  came 
to  town,  he  was  critically  eyed  by  men  on 
tliu  streets.  Little  groups  scattered  as  he 
approached,  then  closing  in  as  he  passed, 
they  watched  his  slowly  receding  figure, 
while  they  commented  on  his  slender  form, 
his  raised  shoulders,  his  slow,  determined 
gait,  and  his  perpetually  clenched  teeth. 

From  the  time  of  his  first  mysterious 
arrival  at  Littleton,  when  he  had  uncere- 
moniously kicked  .three  local  bullies  out 
of  the  Prairie  Star  saloon,  he  was  re- 
garded as  a  man  to  be  prated  about  at  a 
wholesome  distance  rather  than  openly  dis- 
puted. It  was  about  this  time,  also,  that 
two  of  Littleton's  professionals  had  in- 


vited him  to  a  poker  game,  the  result  oJ 
which  game  was  that  the  gamblers  packed 
their  belongings  next  day  and  walked  out 
of  town,  leaving  their  board  and  laundry 
bills  unpaid. 

Some  there  were  who  appreciated  the 
expurgation  the  town  had  undergone  in 
the  losing  of  the  gamblers  and  the  silenc- 
ing of  the  bullies;  but  others,  more  cyni- 
cal in  their  calculations,  declared  that 
the  village  had  a  substitute  for  these  evili 
in  the  mysterious  personality  of  Jerrj 
Lull. 

Thus,  with  a  shadowv  suspicion  lurk- 
in  or  about  him,  did  this  young  man  of  iron 
reticence  spend  two  months  in  the  settle- 
ments about  Littleton. 

It  was  Saturday  afternoon  in  Decem- 
ber.   All  day  a  silent  snow  had  been  fall- 
ing in  great  flakes,  and  the  ground  was 
uniformly  covered  to  a  depth  of  ten  inches 
In  the  Prairie  Star  saloon  Mr.  Lull  w? 
engaged  in  a  quiet  poker  game  with  SOL 
of  Littleton's  amateurs.    A  half-dozen  pi 
trons  and  loungers  stood  around  the  bar- 
room stove,  smoking  and  discussing  tht 
condition  of  the  weather,  when  a  sudde 
swish  of  wind  threw  open  the  door  of 
building,  and  sent  a  white  spray  of  snoi 
over  the  bar.     The  proprietor  stepped 
the  door  to  close  it,  and  as  he  did  so 
announced  a  change  of  wind  and  a  bli; 
zard. 

Some  of  the  loungers  stepped  to  the 
window  to  observe  the  storm.  Already 
the  street  was  in  a  gray  whirl  of  snow  so 
that  the  blacksmith-shon  across  the  way 
could  not  be  distinguished. 

"'Spect  it's  goino-  to  be  one  of  Ne- 
braska's old-timers,"  carelessly  remarked 
the  bar-keeper.  The  men  spat  on  the 
floor  and  passively  agreed  with  him.  There 
were  a  few  casual  remarks  about  the  pos- 
sibility of  any  exposed  person  surviving 
the  storm,  when  one  of  the  men  suddenly 
remembered  that  Eddie  Starling  had  rid- 
den cut  of  town  not  a  half  hour  before. 

"Eddie  Starling  of  the  Starling 
Ranch?"  excitedly  asked  one. 

"Eleven  miles  against  this  storm!"  ex- 


THE  L(WE  OF  CHANCE. 


135 


claimed  another.  "A  twelve-year-old  boy 
on  a  pinto  in  this  weather !" 

Other  excited  remarks  came  in  confu- 
sion from  the  crowd.  Some  wondered 
whether  the  boy  could  get  back  to  town. 
Others  thought  he  might  reach  Patter- 
son's ford  in  safety,  where  he  would  gain 
the  hospitable  shelter  of  Richard  Patter- 
son's house.  Some  talked  in  an  indecisive 
way  of  a  rescuing  party,  while  still  others 
could  do  nothing  more  effective  than  to 
rehearse  accounts  of  similar  storms  and 
accompanying  fatalities. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Lull,  who 
with  his  accustomed  equanimity  had  been 
quietly  playing  his  hand,  arose  from  his 
chair.  Without  a  word  of  apology  for 
thus  abruptly  nuitting  the  game,  without 
even  a  significant  look  from  his  cool  coun- 
tenance, he  slowly  shoved  his  roll  of  bills 
and  a  handful  of  ivorv  chips  into  his 
pocket  and  turned  away  from  the  fable. 
As  he  approached  the  door  with  his  de- 
cisive step,  his  raised  shoulders  and  the 
steady,  clock-like  swaying  of  his  arms,  the 
little  group  of  men  stepped  aside  to  let 
him  pass.  They  watched  him  as  he  left 
the  room,  for  this  man's  every  movement 
was  of  interest  to  Littleton. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  passed  before 
the  window  with  a  tight  roll  of  woolen 
blankets.  As  the  men  from  the  window 
watched  him  leaning  into  the  battling 
blast,  they  conld  only  wonder  and  guess. 
From  the  livery  barn,  a  short  time  after, 
he  led  his  tall  bay.  The  roll  of  blankets 
was  securelv  strapped  behind  the  saddle. 
The  horse  pranced  restlessly  in  the  storm 
as  Lull's  foot  sought  the  stirrup.  Then 
with  a  bound  and  a  plunge,  the  horse  and 
rider  disappeared  in  the  gray  fury  that 
raged  through  the  street. 

The  group  of  men  in  the  saloon  had  all 
but  forgotten  the  predicament  of  Eddie 
Starling  in  the  intensity  of  their  interest 
in  Lull's  actions.  What  could  have 
prompted  the  man  to  ride  away  into  this 
storm,  they  wondered?  Had  he  been  the 
loser  in  the  game  he  was  playing?  Or 
had  he  over-heard  the  conversation  about 
Eddie  Starling's  danger,  and  was  he  ^os- 
sibly  undertaking  a  rescue? 

"Oh,  bosh !"  exclaimed  one  of  the  men, 
"reckon  that  man  would  care  if  the  whole 
State  of  Nebraska  froze  to  death  to-night  ? 
Not  much.  Sentiment  don't  trouble  him 
as  much  as  other  people's  horses  do." 


The  laugh  that  followed  this  remark 
produced  such  general  optimism  that  all 
were  willing  to  believe  that  Eddie  Star- 
ling was  safe  under  shelter  at  Patterson's 
Ranch,  and  the  matter  was  dismissed  from 
their  minds. 

At  the  Starling  Ranch  that  evening 
Jack  Starling  was  pacing  restlesslv  back 
and  forth  in  the  house  and  trying  to  con- 
vince his  wife  that  their  son  had  not 
started  from  Littleton  before  the  coming 
of  the  storm.  But  Mrs.  Starling  only 
shuddered  as  the  storm  continued  to  wail 
and  to  tear  at  the  rattling  shingles.  With 
a  sudden  thump  the  door  opened,  and 
Jerry  Lull,  his  left  cheek  frozen  into  a 
white  disc,  walked  in  with  a  great  bundle 
wrapped  in  new  blankets.  He  laid  his 
burden  on  the  iloor. 

"He'll  be  all  right  soon,  I  hope,"  ne 
said  as  he  unwrapped  the  blankets  and  re- 
vealed the  unconscious  form  of  Eddie 
Starling. 

How  the  mother  expressed  her  joy  and 
the  father  his  gratitude  is  here  of  no  con- 
sequence. Let  is  suffice  to  say  that  the 
boy  was  duly  resuscitated  with  the  hfc.i.p 
of  Mr.  Lull,  and  that  Lull  would  give 
no  account  of  the  rescue,  save  that  he 
found  the  boy  asleep  and  half  buried  in 
a  snow-drift  some  six  or  seven  miles  down 
the  trail. 

Nothing  could  induce  Mr.  Lull  to  ac- 
cept the  hospitality  offered  by  the  Star- 
lings; but  when  he  was  assured  of  the 
boy's  safety,  he  led  his  horse  from  the 
barn,  mounted,  and  turning  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Stub  Jones's  ranch,  gave  the  ani- 
mal a  loose  rein,  and  rode  away  into  tha 
awful  night. 

The  storv  of  this  rescue  soon  spread 
abroad  and  furnished  the  topic  for  much 
conversation  and  gossin  throughout  the 
settlement.  Much  wonder  was  expressed 
at  this  unexpected  conduct  of  Mr,  Lull, 
but  more  wonder  still  was  expressed  a 
month  later  when  it  was  found  that  the 
Starling  boy  had  actually  succeeded  in 
making  friends  with  this  stoical  man.  For 
when  Eddie  had  again  been  able  to  be  out 
he  had  frequently  ridden  over  to  the  Jones 
ranch  in  the  hope  of  becoming  better  ac- 
quainted with  his  rescuer.  It  had  been  a 
slow  process,  but  gradually  the  two  had 
become  friends.  Often  they  spent  the  day 
in  a  joint  antelope  hunt.  As'  Mr.  Lull 
was  a  clever  hunter  and  a  matchless 


136 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


marksman,  both  with  rifle  and  pistol,  the 
boy  readily  became  his  disciple. 

Once  or  twice  a  week,  through  the  win- 
ter, they  met  and  hunted  together.  But 
often  Lull  was  gone  from  the  settlement 
for  a  week  at  a  time,  and  when  he  returned 
he  invariably  came  from  the  direction  of 
the  Upper  Sand  Hill  country. 

Eddie  soon  learned  not  to  question  the 
man  about  these  trips,  or  in  fact  about 
anything  relating  to  his  personal  affairs. 
Indeed,  their  friendship  was  a  silent  one. 
Few  words  were  spoken.  Only  now  and 
then,  when  they  sat  about  a  camp-fire  did 
this  man  of  few  words  express  fragments 
of  his  stoical  philosophy. 

"There's  only  one  thing  in  this  world 
to  be  feared,  Eddie,"  he  would  say,  "and 
only  one  thing  that's  worth  living  for.  The 
thing  to  be  feared  is  whisky.  It  won't 
fight  you  fair,  son;  don't  meddle  with  it. 
It  won't  give  you  a  fair  chance.  And  that 
brings  me  to  the  thins  I  was  goin~  to  say 
— it's  chance  that's  worth  living  for.  Take 
chances,  boy.  The  life  was  never  worth 
living  that  never  got  into  a  pinch.  If 
you  can't  find  chances,  make  some.  But 
take  chances,  boy,  take  big  chances." 

And  Eddie  would  watch  the  light  in  the 
grav  e}res  and  wonder  what  big  chance  this 
quiet  man  was  taking,  but  he  dared  not 
ask. 

In  January  the  snow  had  disappeared. 
The  Grimes  band  of  horse-thieves  began 
to  make  occasional  midnight  expeditions 
into  the  country.  Without  snow  it  was 
impossible  to  track  these  men  into  the 
wilderness  of  sand  hills  that  lay  to  the 
north,  so  the  ranchmen  merely  mutterad 
helplessly  at  an  occasional  loss  of  a  small 
bunch  of  horses. 

Then  the  old  suspicion  of  Mr.  Lull's 
secret  alliance  with  the  thieves  was  re- 
vived, and  his  actions  were  watched  more 
closely  than  ever  before.  Jack  Starling 
was  especially  zealous  in  his  efforts  to  find 
convicting  evidence  against  him,  for  al- 
though he  felt  a  debt  of  gratitude  toward 
the  rescuer  of  his  son,  he  could  not  ignore 
the  mysterious  visits  Mr.  Lull  was  mak- 
insr  to  the  Sand  Hill  country. 

"Tell  you,  Ann,"  said  Starling  one 
evening  at  supper,  "I'm  convinced  there's 
something  secret  about  that  fellow  Lull, 
and  I'll  bet  a  horse  he's  in  with  that  Sand 
Hill  gang." 

"Why,  Jack   Starling!"   exclaimed   his 


wife,  "how  can  you  talk  that  way  when 
you  know  how  much  Mr.  Lull  has  done 
for  us  ?"  Jack  stirred  his  coffee  excitedly 
and  continued : 

"His  kind  is  apt  to  do  anything  for  a 
fellow,  but  that  don't  clear  'em  of  horse- 
stealing.      You    remember    the   time 
hung  Handy  Charley  down  at  Patterson 
Ford.    Well,  we  never  would  have  got  th 
rascal  if  he  hadn't  stopped  like  a  fool 
give  back  a  ring  to  that  Patterson  girl  b 
fore   crossing   the   river — and   the   who! 
blamed  country  a-chasing  him,  too.  Why, 
if  he  had  ever  got  across  the  river  there, 
we  would  never  have  seen  him  again.    But 
he    did    that  (little   fool   thing,    and    we 
swung  him.     And  you  mark  my  word,  if 
that  Lull  don't  be  the  next  to  swing  fro 
Patterson's  oak." 

It  was  in  the  latter  part  of  March  whe: 
a  great  raid  was  made  on  the  Collins  pas- 
tures, and  thirteen  of  the  best  horses  we 
run  off.     It  was  this  that  stirred  the  se 
tiers  to  action.     The  pasture  was  closel; 
searched  for  any  sign  that  would  furnis 
a  clue  to  the  identity  of  the  thieves.    And 
then  it  was  that  in  the  pasture,  near  the 
spot  where  the  horses  had  been  rounded 
up,   the  men  found  the  broken  spur  of 
Jerrv  Lull. 

When  Jack  Starling  came  home  that 
night  he  told  his  wife  about  the  spur,  and 
about  the  plans  of  the  Vigilantes  for  the 
next  day,  but  he  carefully  avoided  letting 
Eddie  into  the  secret. 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Starling  had 
ridden  away  somewhere  before  Eddie 
arose.  Tears  came  to  Mrs.  Starling's  eves 
as  she  refused  to  tell  her  son  where  his 
father  had  gone.  Eddie  decided  to  ques- 
tion her  no  more,  but  the  mystery  re- 
mained unsolved. 

In  the  afternoon  the  boy  was  sitting 
in  the  barn  door,  just  finishing  the  mend- 
ing of  his  saddle,  when  Jim  Wilson  came 
galloping  by,  his  horse  blowing  with  the 
warmth  of  spiing. 

"Hi  there!"  called  Eddie,  "what's  up?" 

Wilson  halted  and  breathlessly  ex- 
plained :  "We've  got  him  cooped  up  in 
Patterson's  barn.  I'm  out  rounding  up 
more  men.  Going  to  burn  the  barn  to- 
night." 

"Who's  cooped  up  ?"  demanded  the  boy, 
as  he  rose  to  his  feet. 

"The  horse-thief,  Jerry  Lull— wt> 
chased  him  as  far  as  Patterson's  crossing, 


THE  LOVE  OF  CHANCE. 


137 


shoot  in'  at  him  all  the  time — got  him  one 
in  the  hip,  I  guess;  anyhow,  he  rode  into 
Patterson's  barn  instead  of  tryin<v  to  ford 
the  river.  River's  up,  you  know — ice 
a-floating  down.  Oh,  he's  a  bad  one.  He's 
found  all  the  knot  holes  in  the  old  barn 
and  he's  taking  a  shot  at  every  man  as 
shows  a  finger  out  of  shelter.  They're  go- 
ing to  wait  till  night  to  sneak  on  him  and 
burn  him  out.  Good-bve  !" 

Eddie  would  'have  staggered  at  this 
news,  but  he  thought  of  what  Mr.  Lull 
had  told  him  about  a  life  of  chance. 

"Is  my  father  there?"  the  boy  gasped, 
as  Wilson  was  riding  away. 

"Jack  Starling?"  the  rider  called  back. 
"Sure;  he's  the  man  that  shot  him  in  the 
hip." 

The  boy's  head  grew  heavy  and  seemed 
to  swim  in  a  warm,  throbbing  haze.  But 
again  there  flashed  upon  him  the  words 
that  had  made  such  an  impression  on  his 
youthful  mind :  "The  life  was  never  worth 
living  that  never  got  into  a  pinch !"  He 
straightened  up,  and  assumed  the  steady, 
decisive  walk  of  Mr.  Lull  as  he  strode  into 
the  barn.  He  would  ride  to  Patterson's 
crossing.  If  he  could  then  cross  the  river 
with  Mr.  Lull,  he  could  hold  the  Vigi- 
lantes back  while  the  man  he  admired  es- 
caped. 

Without  a  word  to  his  mother,  he  led  his 
pinto  from  the  barn.  The  wiry  bronco 
wheeled  on  his  haunches  as  the  lad  leaped 
to  the  saddle.  A  moment  later  a  long 
gray  screw  of  dust  was  whirling  down  the 
road  after  clattering  hoofs.  A  little  rise 
of  ground,  a  small  vale,  and  the  rider 
swept  out  of  sight  of  the  Starling  Ranch. 

Nine  miles  away,  at  Patterson's  Eanch, 
the  dull,  heavy  feeling  that  comes  with  a 
critical  situation  weighed  upon  thirty 
souls.  The  few  shots  that  had  come  from 
the  cracks  and  knot-holes  of  the  old  barn 
had  spoken  the  determination  of  the  be- 
sieged, and  little  groups  of  armed  men 
were  concealed  behind  a  haystack  and  sev- 
eral outbuildings.  Within  the  barn  was  a 
wounded  and  desperate  man,  and  a  man 
whose  life  had  been  spent  in  tantalizing 
every  device  of  death. 

The  scene  was  one  that  might  have 
caused  a  Napoleon  to  pause  and  muse  on 
the  significance  of  a  human  life.  It  was 
one  of  those  soundless  spring  days  when 
the  very  air  seems  awed  into  silence.  Here 
and  there  the  grass  was  just  peeping 


green  in  response  to  the  mighty  pulse  of 
spring.  The  rolling  prairie  spread  away 
to  the  north,  and  the  outline  of  the  dis- 
tant hills  quivered  in  the  warm  sunshine. 
From  the  river  a  hundred  yards  to  the 
south  came  the  rasping  sound  of  floating 
ice,  mingled  with  the  gurgling  of  turbu- 
lent water.  Just  where  the  trail  dipped 
down  over  the  river  bank  to  the  ford  stood 
the  ominous  Patterson's  oak,  which  had 
been  the  scene  of  Handy  Charley's  chas- 
tisement. Gray  and  old,  with  two  crows 
awkwardly  flapping  about  its  bare 
branches,  it  stood  awaiting  its  new  victim. 

The  besiegers  about  the  barn  had  grown, 
dogged  in  their  determination,  and 
were  sullenly  waiting  for  night,  when  they 
would  accomplish  their  incendiary  pur- 
pose. While  they  were  waiting,  some  one 
called  attention  to  a  rider  on  a  spotted 
pinto  coming  down  the  trail  from  the 
north.  Ordinarily  such  a  sight  would 
have  attracted  little  attention,  but  the 
frantic  speed  with  which  the  horse  ap- 
proached, caused  all  to  stare. 

The  rider  disappeared  in  a  hollow,  then 
re-appeared  over  the  summit  of  a  hill, 
dipped  out  of  sight  in  a  small  ravine,  and 
descended  to  the  level  stretch  of  road  in 
the  river  valley.  Now  the  rolling  sputter 
of  hoofs  could  be  heard  as  the  pinto  sent 
a  stream  of  dust  behind  him. 

"Eddie  Starling!"  some  one  exclaimed. 

"And  bare-headed,"  joined  others. 
"Wonder  what's  up." 

As  the  rider  thundered  past  the  hay- 
stack, Jack  Starling  called  out  in  the  au- 
thoritative tone  of  a  parent:  "Stop,  son! 
The  barn — the  barn !  There's  danger  !" 

But  twenty  feet  from  the  barn  the  boy 
had  halted  the  pinto  in  a  whirl  of  dust, 
had  leaped  to  the  ground  and  disappeared 
within  the  barn. 

Men  stared  stupidly  at  one  another. 
Some  who  were  of  the  more  explosive  na- 
ture announced  their  hopes  to  be  seen  in 
the  infernal  regions  if  they  had  ever 
known  the  like.  Others  who  saw  the  new 
situation  in  its  complicated  light,  cursed 
at  their  blighted  hones  of  burning  out 
their  victim.  And  others  grouped  about 
Jack  Starling  for  an  explanation  of  his 
son's  conduct. 

A  few  moments  lifted  the  suspense.  The 
barn-door  that  faced  the  river  swung  open 
with  a  bang,  and  Lull's  big  bay  plunged 
forth  toward  the  ford. 


138 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


Thirty  rifles  flew  to  thirty  shoulders, 
but  not  a  shot  was  fired.  In  the  saddle 
were  two  riders,  and  the  one  in  front 
was  the  son  of  Jack  Starling.  Behind 
him,  the  lover  of  chance  was  half-turn- 
ing in  the  saddle,  while  his  threatening 
pistol  held  the  crowd  in  check.  The  dan- 
ger of  his  situation  and  the  pain  of  his 
wounded  hip  found  no  expression  in  the 
changeless  composure  of  his  face.  He  was 
taking  one  of  the  great  chances  that  had 
made  all  his  life  worth  living.  He  did  not 
curse  humanity,  as  is  the  custom  of  des- 
peradoes at  bay:  he  did  not  waste  vain 
pistol  shots  in  empty  space;  and  when  the 
horse  bore  him  over  the  steep  bank  and 
into  the  unruly  stream,  he  did  not  split 
the  air  with  a  shout  of  defiance. 

The  Vigilantes  hastened  to  the  river. 
A  shout  of  mingled  fear  and  hatred  went 
up  as  they  saw  the  gallant  horse  striving 
to  evade  the  crashing  ice  chunks,  and 
vainly  battling  against  the  resistless  flood. 
A  heavy  cake  of  ice  struck  the  horse's 
hip  and  half  turned  him  round  in  the 
swirling  torrent,  but  still  he  toiled  on 
under  his  double  load. 

Jack  Starling's  face  was  pale  with  fear 
as  he  thought  of  his  son's  danger.  Then 
a  new  thought  brought  determination  to 
his  eye.  If  the  horse  were  relieved  of  its 
greater  burden  it  might  yet  bear  his  son 


to  shore.  Jack  had  great  confidence  in  his 
own  marksmanship.  He  brought  his  rifle 
to  his  shoulder — 'but  as  he  did  so,  another 
cake  of  ice  struck  the  horse,  and  the  boy 
was  thrown  from  the  saddle  and  whirled 
into  the  main  current.  A  murmur  of  dis- 
may mingled  with  curses  on  the  shore; 
then  of  a  sudden,  .ollowed  the  silence  that 
comes  with  amazement.  The  man  whose 
life  was  being  sought,  the  man  with  tha 
unwritten  death  warrant  of  border  law 
staring  at  him  from  the  shore,  had  turned 
his  horse  about  in  the  stream,  and  faced 
his  enemies.  With  a  blow  from  his  pistol 
he  forced  the  unwilling  brute  back  into 
the  "main  current,  and  pursued  the  helpless 
bov.  In  three  frantic  lunges  the  rider 
had  swung  in  front  of  the  vast  raft  of 
ice  that  was  floatin-1-  toward  the  drown- 
ing youth.  The  men  on  the  shore  were 
breathless  when  Lull's  big  hand  clutched 
the  boy's  shoulder.  Then  the  silence  gave 
place  to  another  murmur  of  distress  as 
the  great  sheet  of  ice  struck  the  horso 
and  turned  him  on  his  side. 

There  was  a  sudden  sinking  of  hor>o 
and  riders,  followed  bv  a  violent  slanuin / 
of  waves  against  the  ices'  edge,  and  the 
innocent  boy,  side  by  side  with  the  iron- 
clad character,  who  loved  chance  dear-.1!' 
than  life,  was  tided  away  into. the  -"i- 
kriowable  sea  of  silence. 


THE    WESTERN    CALL 

BY     MADELINE    HU«HES    PEI.TON 


'T 


,IS  the  Western  air, 
'Tis  the  Western  "dare" 

Of  the  Western  sons  of  men 
With  their  songs  of  cheer 
And  their  scorn  of  fear, 
That  will  call  me  back  again. 

'Tis  the  Western  style 
Of  the  Western  smile, 

And  the  wholesome  hearts  of -men; 
'Tis  the  mountain  ways 
And  the  "golden  days," 

That  will  win  me  back  asah1. 


EVEN   "MY  NAVAJOS"   WERE   PARTIES  TO  THE   SCHEME. 

KELLEY    OF    THE    TRANS-MOJAVE 

BY    FELIX    J.     KOCH 


ILLUSTRATED     WITH     PHOTOGRAPHS. 


T  WAS  down  in  San 
Diego  that  we  heard  fhe 
story.  Friend/  with 
whom  we'd  crossed  the 
seas  four  years  before, 
when  Friend  considered 
himself  almost  a  Yan- 
kee, had  invited  us  in 
to  tea,  and  realizing  that  there  is  nothing 
so  refreshing  to  a  gHobe-ftrotter  as  to 
drop  in  beside  a  real  human  fireside,  we 
spent  the  evening  telling  stories  which 
smacked  of  the  West,  obviously. 

The  moonlight  streamed  in  through  the 
open  windows,  and  the  balmy  March 
winds,  off  San  Diego  bay,  brought  with 
them  the  odor  of  the  climbing  roses  there 
on  the  veranda. 

There  was  something  in  the  perfume 
of  those  jack-roses  that  started  the  sug- 
gestion, probably. 


"'Ever  run  across  the  story  of  Phil  Kel- 
lev  of  the  Trans-Mojave  ?"  our  host  asked, 
for  we  were  out  in  the  golden  West  in 
pursuit  of  what  the  newspaper  man  calls 
"stories/' 

We  admitted  we  hadn't. 

Friend's  wife  brought  his  old  meer- 
schaum, which  always  helped  the  mental 
process,  and  we  settled  ourselves  down  to 
listen. 

"Kelley's  just  dead  and  gone,  so  you've 
timeliness  for  vour  storv.  He  was  a  char- 
acter down  here  in  the  Southwest,  for 
many  and  many  a  day.  Latterlv  he  was 
a  queer  old  fellow — always  wore  a  soft, 
slouch  hat  of  grey,  and  loose-fitting  suit 
of  dark  color.  Wherever  he  went,  he  car- 
ried a  staff,  to  what  end  no  one  evor 
knew. 

What  added  to  his  picturesqueness  was 
a  long,  swarthy  beard,  glasses  with  gold 


THE  STREET  IN  TUCSON  WHERE  THE  INSTRUMENTS  WERE  BOUGHT. 


rims  of  the  olden  style,  and  best  of  all,  a 
grin  of  the  sort  that  makes  the  world  run 
smoothly. 

"Where  he'd  come  from,  of  course  none 
of  us  knew.  You  know  the  spirit  of  the 
West.— to  take  a  fellow  at  hundred  cents 
on  the  dollar  and  never  inquire  where  the 
metal  now  in  him  was  coined! 

"Well,  it  happened  that  one  dav  Kelley 
took  sick,  and  they  sent  him  over  the  hills 
to  the  county  hospital. 

"There  in  his  delirium  he  told  a  most 
remarkable  tale. 

"It  seems  that  a  few  years  before,  he 
had  driven  a  stage  on  the  Trans-Moiave 
route  out  here  into  the  West." 

Every  time  Friend  spoke  of  the  West, 
his  eyes  kindled  and  sought  the  jack-rose 
trellis  out  there  through  the  window. 

/'One  day,  crossing  the  desert  plains 
without  a  passeng-er,  and  so  taking  his 
ease,  he  stopped  to  chat  with  a  prospector 
who  had  pitched  his  tent  on  the  mesas 
and  set  up  a  claim  monument  ri^ht  on 
the  edge  of  the  trail. 

"The  man,  too,  had  come  out  of  the 
nowhere,  and  with  next  to  nothing.  He 
was,  however,  more  buoyant  than  the  rest 


PHIL,    KEL.LEY. 


"TARNAL    STRANGER,    GIT    OUT    O'    HERE!     THIS   YERE   CLAIM   WAS  MINE,   AND 
PHIL   KELLEY    MURDERED   ME!" 


of  the  claim-hunters — seemed  most  confi- 
dent of  success. 

"Somewheres  over-seas  he  had  obtained 
Sa  magnet  that  possessed  peculiar  powers. 
Applied  to  any  plant  growing  on  the  des- 
ert, he  could  tell  from  what  substance 
that  plant  derived  its  nourishment,  and 
also  what  other  rock  was  present  down 
below,  by  the  degree  of  attraction  made 
on  the  magnet. 

"We've  all  heard  of  the  roots  of  trees 
making  their  way  through  iron  and  the 
like,  and  that  seems  to  have  been  the  prin- 
ciple involved.  The  roots  of  the  plants 
took  up  minute  particles  of  every  metal 
beneath  them,  whether  this  was  soluble 
ordinarily  or  no,  and  these  this  queer 
touchstone  revealed. 

"Given  an  indication,  therefore,  that 
there  was  gold  in  a  given  plot  of  soil,  the 
man  had  only  to  dig  down  to  that  layer 
or  strata,  and  if  there  were  metal  enough 
to  pay,  to  'stake  it  out.' 

"To  cut  a  long  story  short,  Kelley  sold 
out  his  share  in  the  stage  line  and  put  the 
money  into  the  venture  of  finding  the  gold 
with  the  touch-stone. 

"From  the  trail,  they  came  down  into 
the  heart  of  ifche  Mojave  country  and 


staked  it  on  the  real  desert.    There,  by  and 
bye,  they  were  amassing  a  fortune. 


KELLEY  PEDDLING  GLUE. 


"THE    YOUNG   INDIANS    WERE    DRAWN    UP    INTO    LINE.' 


"What  it  took  other  prospectors  hours 
or  even  days  of  good,  solid  digging  to  de- 
termine, these  men  could  find  out  in  a 
minute  or  two. 

"The  Southwest,  you  know,  is  willing 
enough  to  let  every  man  attend  to  his  own 
business,  but  by  and  bye,  Kelley  went  a 
step  beyond  this  State ;  got  uppish  and 
took  to  deriding,  good-naturedly,  those 
not  quite  so  successful  as  he. 

"Then  the  other  prospectors  arranged 
their  revenge  and  reprisal.  It  would  be 
expensive,  of  course,  but  thev  didn't  care. 
When  you're  at  the  work  of  finding  go  id 
in  the  desert  sands,  and  getting  it  for  the 
picking,  you're  not  quite  as  particular 
with  money  as  some  qf  the  rest  of  us  are. 

"There  was  a  fellow  in  Tucson  who  had 
just  put  in  his  store  window  a  new  inven- 
tion of  which  some  of  them  knew. 

"They  sent  him  an  order  for  about 
three  dozen  of  these  implements,  and  then 
bided  their  time  to  wait.  Meanwhile, 
nowever,  thev  paid  a  visit  to  Uncle  Sam's 
neighboring  Indian  school,  and  having 
laid  their  plan  before  the  director,  anl 
used  the  soothing  oil  of  graft,  against 
which  scarce  any  of  our  officials  are  proof, 
they  had  young  Indies  drawn  up  in- 


to line  and  given  certain  directions. 

"Then  it  was  fixed  that  for  a  day  Kelley 
and  his  partner  should  be  lured  into  Tuc- 
son ;ind  kept  busy,  until  all  arrangements 
were  completed.  Arrived  at  the  city,  Kel- 
ley and  his  friend  soon  found  themselves 
in  the  midst  of  the  convi vials  among  whom 
a  prospector  usually  takes  his  place  on 
his  visit  to  town — a  crowd  which  is  ever 
ready  to  welcome  him,  since  he  stands  for 
all  of  the  drinks. 

"They  fell  to  telling  stories — desert 
stories,  always.  By  and  bye  the  stories 
began  to  take  a  ^eculiar  turn.  They  were 
dealing  with  the  "Haunt"  or  the  "Spirit" 
of  the  desert. 

"There  is  an  old,  old  tradition  on  the 
Moiave  of  a  tenderfoot  who  started  1o 
prospect,  struck  gold,  and  was  murdered 
bv  jealous  rivals,  whose  spirit  is  supposed 
to  ride  the  desert  and  to  wail  and  cry  in 
no  uncertain  tones  betimes. 

"This  story,  in  a  dozen  different  ver- 
sions, from  a  dozen  different  sources,  was 
repeated  in  the  saloons. 

"Then  Kelley  and  his  partner  went 
back  to  their  camp. 

"Meantime,  however,  the  desert  had 
been  over-run  with  young  Indians,  taken 


PHIL.  KELLEY  OP  THE  TKANS-MOJAVE. 


113 


out  in  a  wagon  to  Kelley's  camp,  and  di- 
verging from  this  afoot  to  his  innumer- 
able claim  monuments. 

"A  day  or  two  later  a  stranger  came  ouc 
io  Kelley's  camp  to  look  over  what  he  hu,l 
to  sell. 

"They  went  to  one  claim,  believed  to 
be  particularly  rich. 

'•'Idlv,  as  thev  stood  surveying  it,  the 
newcomer  raised  a  boulder  off  the  cor- 
ner monument. 

'•'As  he  did  so,  a  voice  floated  out  on 
the  clear  desert  air,  a  gruff  voice,  pitchc-i 
in  no  uncertain  tones : 

" '  Tarnal  stranger,  git  out  o'  here ! 
This  yere  claim  was  mine,  and  Kel- 
ley  murdered  me!' 

'•'If  you  can  imagine  yourself  out  on 
the  lonesome,  without  another  soul  ex- 
cepting Keiiey  within  sight  or  hearing, 
and  nothing  but  the  sand  and  the  stinga- 
ree  and  the  yuccas,  and  heard  a  voice  like 
that  come  from  the  very  earth,  you  can 
perhaps  imagine  the  consternation  of  the 
two  lone  men  there  on  the  desert. 

'•'The  one  dropped  the  boulder,  but  the 

voice  had  ceased. 


"The  stranger,  however,  had  had 
enough.  So,  too,  had  Kelley.  They  took 
to  their  heels  and  fled  into  the  desert. 

"When  once  they  stopped  for  want  >f 
breath  they  looked  at  each  other  for  ,i- 
planations. 

"Neither  could  offer  any  attempt  of 
these.  The  newcomer,  however,  was  bound 
to  admit  he'd  have  nothing  to  do  with 
that  claim. 

"They  went,  then,  to  another. 

"  'Sure,  this  ain't  haunted  too  ?'  the 
prospective  buyer  asked,  and  without 
awaiting  the  reply  he  moved  a  boulder  •"•f 
the  monument. 

"'Again  the  voice,  the  same  gruff  one: 

"  'Get  off  of  stolen  ground,  d n 

you!  I  was  murdered  for  this  land,  and 
no  one  else  '11  have  it,  I  say!' 

"That  finished  him.  The  tenderfoot 
wouldn't  buy  any  claims  of  the  sort.  Kel- 
ley, too,  wouldn't  have  anything  more 
to  do  with  them  himself. 

"'Say,  let's  get  back  to  Tucson  quick 
as  we  can,'  was  his  only  comment,  as  the 
startled  pair  fled  again  from  they  knew 
not  what  into  the  sand  wastes. 


"TAKE    A    FELLOW    AT    A    HUNDRED     CENTS     ON     THE     DOLLAR     AND     NEVER 
INQUIRE    WHERE    THE    METAL    NOW    IN  HIM    WAS    COINED!" 


144 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


"  Tm  more'n  willing,'  his  customs 
answered,  'but  we'd  both  best  shut  up 
and  not  say  why  we're  coming,  or  we'd 
never  be  anything  but  laughed  at.' 

"Kelley  saw  the  logic  in  the  suggestion, 
and  acquiesced  immediately. 

'•'Pretty  soon  it  was  learned  in  Tucson 
that  Kellev  had  pulled  stakes  and  wag 
going  back  East.  He'd  got  tired  of  the 
desert  and  was  homesick,  it  was  said. 

"The  train  had  hardly  pulled  out  of 
Tucson  before  a  dozen  squatters  had  de- 
camped on  his  property. 

"Then  they  upset  the  claim  monu- 
ments and  took  out  of  each  a  little  instru- 
ment— an  instrument  with  a  cylinder  and 
a  black  funnel  at  one  end. 

"This  they  destroyed  or  else  buried 
deep  in  the  sands. 

"What  was  it?  Whv,  a  graphophoue, 
of  course.  Thev  had  had  the  Indian  k'ds 


hide  these,  one  in  each  monument,  all 
wound  up  and  the  spring  set,  so's  the 
minute  you'd  move  the  boulder,  you'd  set 
it  off. 

"The  buyer  of  claims,  of  course,  was 
only  <i  dupe  of  their's,  standing  in  with 
the  bunch." 

"Wjhat  became  of  Kelley?"  we  asked, 
interested. 

The  meerschaum  had  gone  out,  and 
Friend's  little  ones  were  'rubbing  their 
eyes,  bespeaking  bedtime. 

"Last  I  heard  of  him  he  was  up  in  a 
Northern  city.  Had  one  of  those  stands 
for  a  glue  that  holds  everything  under  the 
sun.  You've  seen  'em — with  the  plates, 
once-cracked,  jointed  together  by  chains. 
Said  he'd  stick  to  this  through  thick  and 
thin,  even  if  he  couldn't  stick  to  his  first 
love,  the  desert.  Now  comes  the  word 
that  he's  gone." 


IN  THE   CANYON'S    DEPTHS 

BY    AD    H.     GIBSON 


W 


HEEE  shadows  linger,  and  the  rays 

Of  sunlight  fall  in  lace-like  showers, 
How  pleasant  in  the  canyon's  depths 
To  loiter  through  the  summer  hours ! 


The  dew  still  gems  the  ferns  and  flowers, 
The  limpid  brooks,  'twixt  mossy  braes, 

Along  the  depth  of  canyon  sings 
A  symphony  of  lyric  lays. 

The  mountains  wild,  in  purple  haze, 
Frame  in  a  rift  of  cloudless  blue, 

And  walls,  steep  rising,  interpose 
A  screen  between  us  and  the  view. 

We  gather  flowers  damp  with  dew, 
And  weave  them  into  bloomy  sprays, 

And  perfect  rest  and  soothing  find 
Within  the  canyon's  sheltered  ways. 


AN  EPISODE  OF  THE  FLOAT  LANDS 

BY    ERNESTINE    WTN'CHE.LL 


ESTEKDAY      morning, 
when      Edith      trudged 
along  the  narrow  levee- 
path  in  the  wake  of  her 
younger       sister       and 
small  brother,  her  mind 
had  had  no  more  sen- 
iors    occupation      than 
speculation  as  to  the  probable  number  of 
yellow-jacket  stings  awaiting  her  defense- 
less little  legs. 

The  pathway  to  the  school  house  was 
worn  deep  in  the  fibrous  peat  sods  of 
which  the  levee  was  built.  On  the  river 
side  the  bank  was  soaked  and  compact  to 
the  tide  level ;  on  the  land  side  the  drying 
of  the  sods  left  crevices  and  cavities  in 
which  scores  of  mouse  families  and  of 
yellow-jacket  colonies  were  happily  es- 
tablished. 

Of  the  former  the  children  saw  little; 
and  the  latter  had  given  them  no  concern 
till,  one  unfortunate  day,  a  certain  settle- 
ment had  been  accidentally  disturbed. 
Since  then  those  particular  colonists  had 
fiercely  resented  every  footfall  in  their 
domain,  and  the  last  of  the  little  proces- 
sion of  three  never  escaped  punishment — 
no  matter  how  fast  the  pace  set  by  the 
leader. 

This  morning,  by  the  system  of  turn 
about  which  they  observed,  Edith's  pink 
sunbonnet  bobbed  serenely  in  the  van, 
while  six-year-old  Lester  trailed  along  in 
the  rear,  a  disconsolate  prospective  sac- 
rifice. His  long  overalls  gave  his  chubby 
legs  complete  protection  and  relieved  his 
sisters'  minds  of  excessive  sympathy  with 
his  wordy  distress,  but  to  him  there  ap- 
peared no  consolation. 

A  summer  morning  is  nowhere  lovelier 
than  along  the  San  Joaquin  river,  where 
the  regular  tides  ebb  and  flow,  silent  and 
unfailing  as  the  hours  themselves;  where, 
between  the  high  green  walls  of  brown- 
tasseled  tules,  the  blue,  rippled  water 
takes  its  quiet,  devious  way  to  the  Pacific 
—to  be  forever  beaten  back  by  salty 
waves;  where  the  treacherous  float-land, 
protected  from  the  tides  by  earth  embank- 
ments lies  level  and  fair,  bearing  upon 


its  false  bosom  the  emerald  glory  of  the 
native  grasses,  and  the  wealth  of  the  tilled 
crops  of  men. 

Again  the  child  wondered  why  all  the 
books  told  only  of  the  beauty  of  grass — 
or  rock-bordered  streams ;  of  hills  and  val- 
leys and  mountains;  of  lofty  trees.  She 
looked  to  the  left  across  regular  ranks 
of  dark  potato  vines  breaking  into  white 
and  purple  bloom,  to  the  snowy  field  of 
buckwheat  where  the  bees  were  humming; 
and  to  the  right,  beyond  the  tule  tassels, 
where  white  sails,  filled  with  the  fresh 
west  wind,  carried  the  river  schooners 
gayly  up  the  stream. 

As  she  looked,  charmed  by  the  riot  of' 
exquisite  color  and  form,  Edith's  mind 
began  to  drift  from  one  thought  to  an- 
other. For  a  space  it  touched  upon  the 
lessons  awaiting  her  at  the  weather-gray 
little  school  house.  Scraps  of  Lester's 
plaintive  prophecies  regarding  yellow- 
jackets  held  faint  attention  for  an  instant. 
Then,  in  a  flash,  everything  was  forgotten 
but  a  bit  of  conversation  that  she  had 
overheard  that  morning.  After  the  in- 
definite rumble  of  her  father's  voice  had 
come  her  mother's  sympathetic  answer: 
"Yes,  I  know  it's  almost  a  vain  hope.  The 
snow  water  is  coming  down  so  fast,  and 
this  west  wind  keeps  the  tides  in.  Still 
if  the  Chinamen  make  their  appearance 
in  time — 

Why  hadn't  she  paid  attention?  A 
sense  of  gravity  impressed  her  now  as  it 
had  not  then.  And  she  remembered  the 
pale,  anxious  face  of  a  neighbor  as  he  said 
to  her  father:  "Four  more  tides  before 
the  highest." 

Into  her  troubled  speculations  broke  a 
frantic  cry  from  Alice:  "Edith!  oh,  run, 
now  rim!" 

Instantly  she  grasped  the  details  of 
the  familiar  situation.  At  the  other  side 
of  that  tall  weed  lay  the  stronghold  of 
the  little  yellow  enemy.  Scouts  were  out, 
and  the  only  hope  lay  in  the  swift  run- 
ning of  the  gauntlet.  Tule  wall  on  the 
right  and  water-filled  ditch  on  the  left 
made  flank  movement  impossible.  So— 
a  rushing  of  pink-topped  brown  pinafore ! 


146 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


Another — followed  by  active  blue  overalls, 
skipping  mightily  to  the  tune  of  anticipa- 
tory wails.  Safely  passed !  But  no !  A 
forte  note  signaled  the  discomfiture  of  the 
rear  guard! 

Well  out  of  range,  the  forces  were  re- 
assembled, first  aid  to  the  injured  admin- 
istered in  the  form  of  kisses  and  condo- 
lences, and  then  the  single  file  march  to 
school  resumed. 

Looking  from  the  riverside  window  soon 
after  the  bell  rang,  Edith  saw  three  boats 
in  mid-stream,  all  filled  with  Chinamen 
and  piled  high  with  baggage  and  tools. 
In  each,  four  men  at  the  oars  forced  the 
craft  rapidly  up  the  river  with  the  pe- 
culiar, short,  jerky  stroke  of  the  coolie. 

Later,  a  gang  of  the  coolies  following 
the  levee  path  filed  past  the  open  door- 
way— each  immobile,  yellow  face  crowned 
by  a  bread  splint  hat  like  'the  lid  of  a 
basket;  each  wiry  form  clothed  in  clean 
blue  cotton  garments  of  varying  shades. 
Some  bore  across  their  shoulders  thick 
poles  of  bamboo  weighted  by  covered  bas- 
ket or  corded  bale  at  either  end;  many 
carried  queer  but  familiar  implements, 
and  all  jogged  rhythmically  in  a  patient 
trot.  These,  too,  were  bound  up  river, 
and  all  were  levee-builders. 

The  air  was  full  of  indefinite  dis- 
turbance and  a  vague  sense  of  expect- 
ancy. 

Another  file  of  blue-clad  Chinamen 
trotted  by,  and  the  teacher  closed  the 
door. 

Going  home  after  school  in  the  faint, 
shimmering  haze  that  veils  all  this  moist 
land  under  the  afternoon  sun,  Edith  tried 
to  sum  up  the  impressions  of  the  day. 
Alice  pranced  lightly  along  in  the  lead. 
Suddenly  she  stopped  with  a  startled  ex- 
clamation, and  Edith,  following  her  in- 
dication, saw  where  dry  and  cork-like  sods 
on  the  river  side  of  the  levee,  and  above 
the  usual  high-tide  level,  had  been  shifted 
from  their  places.  She  saw,  too,  where 
Alice  excitedly  pointed  it  out,  a  stretch 
of  path  that  was  wet. 

Further  on,  they  reconnoitered  the  am- 
bush of  the  yellow- jackets.  To  their  sur- 
prise there  wag  no  angry  buzzing  of  fran- 
tic little  fighters,  A  few  of  the  guards 
fiew  aimlessly  about  in  the  unwonted 
silen'.'p.  Cautiously  the  girls  drew  up, 
while  Lester,  at  a  safe  distance,  waited 
for  dramatic  developments. 


At  length,  side  by  side,  the  pink  sun- 
bonnets  peered  over  the  edge  of  the  levc 
into  the  entrance  of  the  nest.  Not  an  in- 
sect was  stirring.  Then  they  saw  what 
they  had  been  too  absorbed  to  notice  be 
fore,  that  here,  for  several  feet,  the  levee 
was  wet  nearly  its  whole  width. 

One  of  the  high  tides  had  come  anc 
gone!  At  its  flood  point  it  had  tricklec 
unresisted,  into  that  stronghold  so  vali- 
antly defended — so  fatally  pregnable ! 

Half-exultant,  half-pitiful,  the  girl 
walked  on,  and  Lester,  valorously  kicking 
at  the  spongy  sods,  followed  with  hands 
in  pockets  his  small  bein^  intent  upon  the 
control  of  a  very  young  whistle,  which 
was  now  beautifullv  piercing  for  a  note  or 
two — now  faintly  sibilant,  now  but  a 
breath,  in  exasperating  inconsequence. 

"Here's  more  sods  been  moved!"  Alice 
exclaimed,  her  voice  quivering.  And  a 
bit  further  on:  "See!  the  water  almost 
went  over  there!" 

Tingling  with  apprehension,  Edith 
looked,  half-fearfullv,  over  the  rank  po- 
tato rows  and  on  to  the  distant  snow  of 
the  buckwheat.  Yes,  they  were  still  the 
same.  But  beyond  the  buckwheat,  active 
pale  blue  figures,  scattered  in  squads 
four  or  five  along  the  course  of  the  rivei 
were  cutting  peaty  rectangles  from  tin 
soil,  draggin^  each  from  the  oozy  em- 
brace of  its  neighbor,  flinging  it  to  the 
levee  top,  fixing  it  in  close  contact  with 
others — every  yellow-faced  automaton  d'j- 
ing  his  anDointed  part  with  the  estab- 
lished rhythm  of  Chinese  concerted  move- 
ment. 

At  the  early  supper  table,  the  conversa- 
tion of  the  older  members  turned  to  the 
impending  flood.  Would  the  levees  hold? 
Which  sections  might  be  too  weak? 
Which  were  too  low? 

"I  think  I  can  hold  my  fields,"  re- 
marked the  father.  "By  to-morrow  nignt 
all  my  levees  will  be  made  high  enough 
and  strong  enough." 

"But  there  will  be  three  high  tides  be- 
fore then,"  Frank  sufq-ested,  his  eyes  on 
his  father's  face.  • 

"I'm  remembering,"  a  little  grimly. 
"And  the  night  tide  is  the  highest.  Well, 
I  will  watch  that  weakest  place  myself, 
with  one  gang.  One  of  you  bovs  take 
the  north  bend,  and  the  other  watch  the 
headgate.  I'll  tell  Ah  Tong  to  give  each 
of  you  four  Chinamen." 


AN   EPISODE   OF  THE  FLOAT  LANDS. 


147 


"Everybody  else  is  sending  cut  patrols, 
too,"  said  Percy,  with  a  tremor  of  excite- 
ment in  his  young  voice.  "Johnson  thinks . 
his  land  is  all  safe — and  he's  right,  I 
guess,  but  he's  putting  out  three  men. 
And  Wallace  will  have  five." 

"Wallace  will  need  five/'  decided  Frank. 
"His  levees  haven't  been  proved  like 
Johnson's.  Those  old  levees  have  stood 
for  years  and  years — haven't  thev,  father  ? 
They  are  high  and  solid,  too ;  no  loose  sods 
about  them.  Say,  Percy,  did  you  see  that 
new  horse  he  brought  back  from  the  city 
his  last  trip  ?" 

And  so  the  conversation  drifted  from 
floods  and  levees.  But  Edith's  dreams 
were  haunted  that  night  by  visions  of 
green  fields  where  leopard  lilies  bloomed, 
changing  to  desolate  tangles  of  dead  tules 
through  which  she  struggled  endlessly. 

When  the  family  met  at  breakfast  the 
older  faces  were  weary  and  anxious.  The 
father's  words  were  confident  as  ever,  but 
his  eyes  belied  them.  As  he  rose  from 
the  table,  he  said,  briefly,  to  Edith:  "Go 
to  school  in  your  boat  to-day."- 

They  started  early — before  the  turning 
tide  should  have  gained  too  much  oppos- 
ing force,  and  Alice  noted,  with  a  little 
shriek  of  surprise,  the  new  high- water 
mark  so  far  above  the  old  one,  a  silty  ring- 
on  every  shininp-  tule. 

At  the  school  house  an  excited  group  of 
children  exchanged  news. 

"Mr.  Price's  levee  broke  in  two  places 
last  night!" 

"Oh,  say!  Lucy  Jones  says  the  water 
comes  clear  up  to  their  porch  floor,  and 
they  just  stepped  off  the  porch  into  the 
boat,     and     then   rowed  right   over   the 
levee  when  they  went  to  look  after  things 
in  the  night.     Wasn't  that  funny?" 
"'Johnny !  The  water  in  on  you  yet  ?" 
"No."    reluctantlv.      Then,   hopefully: 
"But  papa  says  he  don't  think  he  can  keep 
it  out  another  tide." 

In  the  irresponsible  childish  minds  the 
unformed  terror  of  the  day  before  had 
reacted  into  keen  appreciation  of  a  novel 
situation,  delighted  anticipation  of  new 
sensations,  and  delicious  apprehension  of 
impersonal  dangers.  There  was  little 
study  in  the  grrav  school  house  that  day, 
for  i.-ven  the  teacher  was  not  calm.  Often 
she  looked  out  on  the  placid,  mercile-'S 
river,  and  then  over  her  father's  carefully 
tended  fields.  Sometimes  the  children 


saw  tears  in  the  gentle  eyes,  now  so  sad 
and  heavv  from  the  weary  vigil  of  th3 
night. 

Out  in  the  sunshine,  all  along  the  river'.s 
tor r nous  course,  groups  of  imperturbable 
Chinamen  labored  unceasingly,  some 
knee-deep  in  mud-thickened  water;  some 
trampling  in  their  work  the  lush  gra^s 
or  the  cultivated  crons.  Did  they  remem- 
ber— did  they  ever  know? — or,  knowing 
did  they  care,  that  fearfully  near,  be- 
neath all  that  beautiful,  smiling,  glori- 
ously prolific  land  lay  awful  depths  of 
dark,  tideless  water?  Had  they  heard  the 
weird,  true  tales  of  futile  efforts  to  fathom 
those  mysterious  deeps? 

Closely  watched  bv  many  apprehensive 
eyes,  the  day  tide  rose  to  the  fullest  swell, 
pulsed  there  for  a  seeminsr  hour,  then 
gently,  softly,  slowly  sank  away. 

There  came  no  word  of  new  breaks  from 
above  nor  from  below.  Most  of  the  men 
went  home  and  to  bed,  to  prepare  for  tha 
strain  of  the  coming  night.  And  many 
Chinamen,  at  word  of  thr  foreman, 
crawled  into  tiny  tents  for  a  few  hours 
of  sleep. 

With  the  ebbing  tide  full  against  thc;n 
after  school  was  out,  Edith  and  Alica 
had  the  ^ospect  of  hard  work  to  reach 
home.  The  current,  brown  now  with  the 
drpina^e  of  inundated  acres  far  up  strea-  i, 
carried  them  many  boat  lengths  below  the 
school  house  wharf  before  they  could 
unshin  their  oars,  and  all  the  impetus  of 
their  four  sturdv  arms  could  give  the  light 
skiff  seemed  lost  in  its  force.  Edith, 
who  was  "stroke"  '  and  therefore  captain 
and  pilot),  bent  all  her  strength  to  the 
port  oar  a^ain  and  again,  till,  at  length, 
the  little  craft  swung  free  of  the  current. 
But  even  close  to  the  bank  the  resistance 
was  disheartening,  ana  it  took  minutes 
to  pass  each  separate  ~>oint. 

Lester,  lolling  indolently  in  the  stern 
seat,  o-ave  himself  up  to  renewed  struggle 
with  his  refractory  whistle. 

Fin  all  v.  weary  stroke  b"  wear-  stroke, 
the  distance  was  measured  off.  Moist, 
warm  and  rumpled,  with  burning  palms 
and  aching  shoulders,  this  tired  boat-crew 
welcomed  the  haven  of  the  Cabled  white 
house,  and  the  sympathetic  ministrations 
of  mother.  Never  did  water  -feel  so  sooth- 
ing! Never  did  simple  supper  taste  so 
good ! 

Alice  went  out  to  see  her  brooding  ban- 


148 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


tarn  hen.  Edith  rested  quietly  on  the  flooi 
at  her  mother's  knees,  and  the  shrilling 
of  Lester's  cheerfully  erratic  whistle 
floated  in  through  the  open  window  on  the 
soft,  persistent  west  wind.  The  peaceful 
quiet  deepened  as  the  day  faded.  The 
sun  grew  greater  and  redder  as  it  neared 
the  blue,  undulating  line  of  the  Coast 
Range.  As  the  blue  turned  to  black,  the 
flaming  sun  dropped  suddenly,  splashing 
the  whole  western  skir  with  a  glorv  of 
scarlet  and  srold.  The  ^old  slowlv  changed 
to  canary — to  o-reen — to  palest  amber; 
the  scarlet  faded  to  pink — to  pearl.  Am- 
ber and  pearl  blent  and  deepened  to  pur- 
ple, and  then  the  splendid  summer  con- 
stellation sprang  into  place,  blazing  in  vio- 
let and  red  and  gold  like  reincarnations 
of  the  sunset. 

Reluctantly  Edith  yielded  herself  to 
sleep;  drowsily  she  heard  the  voices  of 
her  father  and  brothers  answering  the 
mother's  call  to  the  hard  night  watch. 

It  seemed  but  a  moment  till,  startled 
into  wakefulness  by  a  ray  of  warm  light 
falling  on  her  face,  she  sat  up  in  bed  and 
stared  out  of  the  window.  The  morning 
sunshine  bathed  the  pasture  lands,  t^o 
tule  wall,  the  glimmering  bits  of  river,  and 
all  her  sight  could  reach.  Alice  slept 
tranquilly  beside  her.  It  was  late — very- 
late,  and  no  one  had  called  them.  What 
strange  thing  had  changed  even  the  home 
routine? 

Shivering  with  apprehension  in  the  soft, 
warmth  of  the  sunshine,  she  dragged  or 
her  clothes.  With  hurrying  heart  and 
reluctant  feet  she  went  down  the  stairs 
and  along  the  hall  to  the  open  dining  room 
door.  At  the  threshold  she  stopped,  look- 
ing wildlv  from  one  white  face  to  an- 
other. 

Words  were  held  at  sight  of  her,  but  her 
mother  put  out  a  welcoming  hand;  with 
a  sob  of  nameless  fear  the  child  sprang 
to  the  refuge  that  never  fails. 

"You  may  as  well  go  on,  Nathan,"  the 
mother  said,  quietly.  "They  will  hear 
about  it  anyway." 

Sadly  and  haltingly  her  father  contin- 
ued the  storv  of  the  night.  During  the 
hours  of  the  high  tide,  when  a  wave  from 
a  passing  steamboat  might  undo  all  the 
work  of  vears,  every  mile  of  levee  had  been 
patroled  in  sections  bv  souads  of  Chinese 
under  vigilant  white  men. 


The  tide — the  highest  and  the  last  to 
fear — had  begun  to  fall.  Men  were  lift- 
ing glad  faces  in  the  moonlight,  thankful 
for  the  reprieve  that  was  theirs — wheM 
the  night  was  cleft  by  a  hoarse,  strangle.'! 
cry  in  the  near  distance  which  hushed 
every  voice. 

Into  the  stillness  rang  a  thin  clamor  in 
Chinese,  sweliino-  to  a  Babel  of  sound  as 
the  Chinamen  gathered.  Upon  the  up- 
roar crashed  Fred  Johnson's  stern  word 
of  command  and  inquiry.  For  a  moment 
he  contended  for  explanation;  then  impa- 
tient with  the  unintelligible,  frightened 
jargon,  he  turned  and  ran  as  the  franti, 
gestures  indicated — ran  along  the  top  of 
his  firm,  dry  levee,  racing  to  meet — yet 
dreading  to  see — the  unknown  horror  that 
lay  before  him.  Scarcely  had  he  gaina-1 
strong  headway  than  hie  stopped  with  a 
backward  leap.  One  hundred  yards  of 
tnrbid  water  rolled  and  tumbled  where 
the  levee  had  stood ! 

He  chilled  in  sudden  comnrehension  of 
the  coolies'  tangled  phrases.  A  patrolm 
and  a  Chinaman  had  £one  down  with  t: 
levee.  He  shouted  and  shouted  again,  b 
there  came  no  answering  cry  from  tl 
flood. 

Rapidly  the  men  gathered  on  either  si 
of  the  fatal  gap.  Question  and  ans 
were  flung  across  the  torrent.  Boa 
were  brought,  and  desperate  search  a: 
watch  held  every  man  till  the  tide  we: 
out  at  dawn. 

With  the  day  came  confirmation  of  the 
fear  of  the  night.  The  treacherous  float- 
land,  for  the  protection  of  whidh  had  been 
lavished  all  this  nerve-racking  care  and 
body-breaking  labor,  had  mysteriously 
parted,  plunging  the  heavy  embankment 
with  the  unsuspecting  guard  into  the  aw- 
ful, iideless,  unmeasured  depths  beneatL! 

All  day  the  faithful  watchman  lingered, 
hoping  against  dread  certainty.  Clear- 
cut  against  the  blue  and  the  green  loomed 
the  black  lagged  ends  of  the  broken  levej, 
and  between,  the  silver  crinkled  tide  flowed 
in  over  Johnson's  fertile  fields. 

All  dav  the  terrified  Chinese  scattered 
red  naper  invocations  and  petitions  upoii 
the  waters.  And  at  night  the  air  was  per- 
fumed with  propitiatory  incense;  while 
upon  the  river's  bosom  countless  sacred 
tapers  glowed  and  shimmered  and  twinkled 
— weirdly  star r in?  the  darkness. 


THE  SUCKERS'  SATURDAY  NIGHT 

BY    CHAKLTON    LAWRENCE    EDHOLM 


ILL  THE  streets  of  new 
San  Francisco,  the 
stately  City  Beautiful 
of  our  dreams,  ever 
know  the  piquancy 
and  the  picturesque- 
ness  of  Dear  Old  San 
Francisco,  the  metropo- 
lis of  joyous  memories  ?  I  wonder !  Will  it 
know  again  the  same  eager  current  of 
humanity  swirling  down  the  gaily-lighted 
thoroughfares  of  a  Saturday  night?  A 
living  river  whose  tributaries  flowed  from 
teeming  Europe,  the  two  Americas,  Af- 
rica, mysterious  Asia  and  the  islands  of 
the  seas. 

Now  that  it  is  a  thing  of  the  past,  this 
brilliant  street  pageant,  it  seems  as 
though  we  had  not  actually  seen  it  and 
formed  a  part  of  it,  but  merely  had  read 
in  some  fantastic  Arabian  tale  and 
dreamed  of  what  we  had  read. 

There  was  Market  street,  with  its  night- 
Iv  illuminations,  fit  welcome  for  visiting 
prince  or  rajah;  Kearny  street,  with  its 
pleasure-seeking  crowd,  gay  spendthrift 
youths,  women  gorgeously  attired,  of  a 
full-blown  exuberant  beauty  like  the 
women  of  Titian  or  Veronese;  Dupont 
street,  with  its  stalls  and  bazars,  crammed 
full  of  the  wonders  of  the  Orient,  its  ex- 
quisite aestheticism,  its  unutterable 
squalor,  and  finally  that  unique  feature  of 
our  tolerant,  easy-going  city,  Grant  ave- 
nue, packed  from  curb  to  curb  with  the 
auditors  of  yelling  fakers  and  phrenolo- 
gists, medicine-men  and  ministers  of  the 
two-and-seventy  jarring  sects,  reformers 
and  rascals,  each  more  blatant  than  the 
other. 

Grant  avenue  was  the  Pisgah  frorw 
which  one  overlooked  promised  lands  flow- 
ing with  milk  and  honev,  to  say  nothing 
of  more  invigorating  fluids.  You  might 
begin  with  the  telescope  man  on  the  cor- 
ner, who  would  show  you  for  only  five 
cents  the  mountains  of  the  moon,  over 
which,  as  is  well  known,  runs  the  road  to 
El  Dorado. 

The  ever-present  whitejbearded  kidney- 
'•11  iv  vender  might  claim  your  attention 
next,  and  sell  vou  the  Fountain  of  Youth 


(with  an  alcoholic  tang),  done  up  in  six- 
bit  bottles. 

Next  in  line  were  the  social  reformers 
of  all  shades,  from  the  pale  pink  of  the  be- 
liever in  revolution  by  evolution,  to  the 
blood-red  advocate  of  confiscation  and 
extermination — and  Utopia  day  after  to- 
morrow. 

Further  along  was  a  little  gray  man 
brandishing  a  greasy,  tamch-bethumbed 
Bible.  He  had  the  whine  and  drone  and 
twang  of  a  backwoods  preacher,  and  an 
occasional  outburst  aerainst  "damnable 
doctrines"  and  "accursed  licentious  teach- 
ings" sounded  like  a  good  old-fashioned 
invective  against  Ingersoll  or  Tom  Payne. 
Not  a  bit  of  it!  T.  P.  was  his  God  and 
Ingersoll  his  prophet,  and  the  book  against 
which  he  hurled  his  fervid  rhetoric — in 
shockingly  bad  verse  sometimes — was  the 
well-worn  pocket  Bible  in  his  hands.  The 
morals  of  the  Old  Testament  heroes  horri- 
fied him,  and  he  dwelt  lovingly  on  the 
lapses  of  David  and  Solomon. 

Although  the  Salvationists,  the  Volun- 
teers, the  Flying  Scroll  Evangelists,  the 
Holy  Jumpers  and  an  assortment  of  inde- 
pendent seers  and  sages  put  the  atheist 
clearly  in  the  minority,  yet  so  perverse  is 
human  nature,  his  tirade  drew  the  biggest 
crowd. 

Even  that  spectacular  prophet  who 
donned  sack-cloth,  let  his  forked  blonde 
beard  grow  to  his  chest,  and  his  tawny 
hair  to  his  shoulders,  like  a  wandering 
fragment  of  Oberammergau,  could  not 
compete  with  the  iconoclast  here,  for  was 
not  Grant  avenue  the  hammer-swingers' 
heaven ! 

Yes,  indeed,  here  one  could  learn  more 
of  the  abuses  that  stoop  the  workers' 
shoulders,  slant  back  his  brow  and  loosen 
his  jaw — especially  the  latter — than  from 
a  whole  year's  subscription  to  any  of  the 
popular  ten  cent  muckazines. 

My  good  friend,  the  doctor,  a  man  who 
had  seen  humanity  from  many  angles  in 
his  long  life,  strolled  down  the  line  with 
me  one  Saturday  night.  He  was  im- 
mensely pleased  at  the  hundred  voiced 
oration,  and  claimed  that  there  was  no 
other  city  in  the  country  that  kept  a  mid- 


150 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


way  in  full  blast  all  the  year  round.  "Let's 
hear  what  Mary's  little  lamb  has  to  say." 

A  short,  swarthy  man,  with  a  huge  mus- 
tache like  that  of  a  traditional  Texas  gun- 
fighter,  was  roarinp-  with  the  7oice  of  a 
bull.  He  clenched  his  big,  hairy  fists;  he 
swung  his  over-long  arms;  he  paced  back 
and  forth  in  the  close  circle  of  his  audi- 
tors; he  hunched  his  back  and  fixed  his 
glittering  eyes  unon  some  by-stander  &s 
he  hissed:  "Who  do  you  drudge  for?  Who 
fattens  on  your  sweat?  Who  sucks  your 
blood  ?  Who  is  your  master  ?"  Then 
suddenly  jerking  himself  erect,  he  bel- 
lowed his  own  answer :  "THE  CAPITAL- 
IST." 

"The  Capitalist  sprawls  in  a  palatial  of- 
fice with  a  bottle  of  champagne  at  his  el- 
bow and  a  blondined  stenographer  on  his 
knee.  He  dictates  a  notice  that  you  have 
to  go  to  work  three  hours  longer  because 
he  is  going  to  lay  off  some  of  the  hands. 

"And  you  wage  slaves  stand  for  it! 

"Next  time  the  notice  reads:  'Pay  will 
be  cut  ten  per  cent.'  That  gives  him  an- 
other hundred  thousand  for  his  salary  as 
president  of  the  company. 

"And  you  wage-slaves  stand  for  that, 
too! 

"Or  mebbe  you  get  sick  of  the  job  and 
say  you'll  quit.  What  does  your  master 
do  ?  He  gits  an  injunction  from  his  friend 
the  judge,  making  it  a  crime  to  strike.  He 
gits  a  raft  of  special  police  from  his 
friend  the  Chief  of  Police;  he  gits  the 
militia  from  his  friend  the  Governor. 
What  else  did  he  elect  him  for  ? 

"Oh.  you  wage  slaves,  when  will  you 
git  together,  a  class-conscious  army,  and 
demand  the  full  product  of  your  toil? 
Bullets  and  ballots,  that's  what  you  need 
to  exterminate  the  drones  and  seize  what 
belongs  to  you. 

"'Bullets 'and  ballots!  That's  it,  bul- 
lets and  ballots!  Exterminate  them! 
Exterminate  I" 

He  was  frothing  at  the  mouth  in  the 
frenzy  of  a  zealot  preaching  a  new  re- 
ligion. 

"That  fellow  would  make  a  fine  sur- 
geon," smiled  the  doctor,  "the  kind  who 
would  decapitate  a  patient  to  cure  a 
toothache." 

"Tt's  a  wonder  they  don't  lock  him 
up." 

"So  they  would  in  Germany,  doubtless 
in  Prance,  too,  but  in  this  country  the 


people  can  be  trusted  to  judge  for  them- 
selves. The  phrase,  'Hot  air,'  was  gold- 
coined  to  put  just  such  flimsy  paper 
money  out  of  circulation,  and  it  does  the 
trick,  too." 

The  next  circle  was  very  small,  anc 
constantly  disintegrating  and  forming 
anew.  It  surrounded  a  tall,  gaunt  man, 
with  smooth-shaven  face  and.  a  monu- 
mental forehead,  from  which  the  long 
hair  was  brushed  up  and  back.  That 
forehead  was  evidently  his  main  asset, 
and  oh,  the  wonder  of  it,  that  from  sucl 
a  lofty  dome  such  a  thin  trickle  oi 
thought  'Should  proceed,  beaten  into 
froth  of  sweetish  rhetoric.  His  lecture 
was  a  mixture  of  sociology,  vegetarian- 
ism, new  thought,  physical  culture,  and 
platitudes  on  the  conduct  of  life,  all  de- 
livered in  academic  phrases  and  leading 
up  to  the  inevitable  collection  and  hawk- 
ing of  ten-cent  booklets. 

The  honk-honk  of  an  auto  car  further 
down  the  line  scattered  his  small  audi- 
ence before  he  had  secured  his  full  quota 
of  nickels.  With  bitter  resignation  he 
watched  his  auditors  flocking  around  the 
big  red  machine  that  halted  at  the  cor- 
ner with  a  flurry  of  fluttering  ensigns. 
These  banners  were  inscribed  with  letters 
of  gold,  "Professor  Tom  Manley,"  while 
a  big  sign  on  the  sheet  of  plate  glass 
front  bore  the  painted  torso  of  a  Hercule 
bunched  with  muscles  like  a  sack  full 
cobble-stones,  and  advertising  "Viri- 
cult." 

Professor  Tom  stood  erect  on  the  bad 
seat  and  allowed  the  mob  to  gaze  upon  his 
vigorous  beauty,  a  combination  of  the 
ideals  of  Michelangelo,  Buonarruoti  anc 
Charles  Dana  Gibson. 

To  the  former  he  owed  the  chunks  of 
beefy  muscle  that  stretched  his  clothes 
in  places ;  to  the  latter  his  dress  suit,  new 
and  well -fitting,  his  half -acre  of  shirt- 
front  adorned  with  tiny  pearl  studs,  hid 
silk  hat,  this  season's  shape,  and  all  the 
little  details  of  dress  which  mark  the 
man  who  assiduously  strives  to  resemble 
a  gentleman. 

The  depression  on  the  bridge  of  his 
nose  he  owed  to  an  artist  in  another  line, 
so  he  informed  the  crowd,  his  boiled-red 
face  glowing  with  pride.  No  other  fist 
than  that  of  the  redoubtable  John  L. 
could  have  reached  him  in  his  young 
days,  he  affirmed. 


THE  SUCKERS'  SATURDAY  NIGHT. 


151 


But  now  he  had  retired  from  the  ring, 
and  it  was  his  pleasant  duty  to  give  to 
the  world  his  precious  secret  of  how  to 
get  strong  in  eleven  days,  without  too 
much  sacrifice  of  the  pleasures  of  life, 
without  too  much  exertion,  with  absolute- 
ly no  detention  from  business;  in  fact, 
the  pallid  youth  who  would  only  read 
the  dollar-fifty  book  of  Prof.  Tone's  au- 
thorship would  be  prepared  to  cope  with 
the  masters  in  the  arts  of  self-defense, 
from  Queensbury  rules  to  Jiu  Jitsu. 

And  then  if  any  one  should  speak 
rudely  to  the  lady  friend  of  the  enlight- 
ened one,  what  joy  to  annihilate  him  on 
the  spot!  And  so  easy! 

And  the  professor,  waxing  anecdotal, 
described  with  great  gusto  an  encounter 
he  had  had  with  three  sidewalk  loafers  in 
Seattle,  who  had  rasped  the  tender  feel- 
ings of  his  lady  friends.  Of  course,  he 
defeated  them  single-handed  in  one 
round,  after  which  he  treated  them  roy- 
ally to  drinks  sufficient  to  drown  all  ill- 
feeling.  Great  was  his  surprise,  so  he 
averred,  to  read  in  the  next  morning'?' 
paper  in  huge  scare  heads:  "Professor 
Tom  Manley  Puts  Out  Champion  Spidei 
Mike  Grogan  and  His  Two  Trainers." 

"I  got  the  clippings  right  here  in  my 
pocket — at  least  I  think  so.  No,  I  left 
'em  in  the  office.  You  can  see  'em  any 
time  you  wanta  call — number  one-steeri 
Grant  avenue." 

"His  book  ought  to  be  worth  one-fifty 
ao  a  literary  curio,"  I  said,  "and  I  pre- 
sume that  a  man  like  that  is  more  com- 
petent to  write  a  get-strong-quick  book 
than  a  fiat-chested  student  in  rubbers 
and  flannels." 

"Yes,  and  by  the  same  token,  a  prize 
ox  from  the  country  fair  is  just  the  best 
sort  of  an  authority  to  write  a  text  book 
on  stock  raising,"  commented  the  doctor. 

The  next  group  was  perfectly  quiet,  ex- 
cept for  two  youths  in  the  center  who 
were  arguing  in  earnest  tone.  The  crowd 
hung  on  their  words.  This  was  the  prob- 
lem :  If  a  mathematical  point  has  no 
dimensions,  will  an  infinite  number  of 
such  points  acquire  dimensions?  We  left 
before  the  question  was  argued  to  a 

/»      •    1  "  O 

finish. 

"When  a  man  has  learned  to  fence  with 
such  weapons,"  said  the  doctor,  "there  is 
no  problem  he  cannot  solve  by  sheer 
wo;-d-and-wind  power." 


"Yes;  I  have  heard  the  immortality  of 
the  sou'l,  the  theory  of  socialism,  the 
Panama  Canal,  the  personality  of  our 
President,  and  a  score  of  other  weighty 
questions  settled  here — in  several  ways 
every  night." 

"And  still  the  sun  rises  in  the  same 
place,"  replied  the  doctor.  "Listen  to 
my  colleague." 

"...  And  this,  gentlemen,  is  the 
celebrated  Asiatic  turtle,  called  in  China 
tung-ki-see,  which  produces  seventeen 
thousand  fertile  eggs  in  a  single  season. 
It  is  caught  by  the  natives,  killed  in  the 
light  of  the  moon  by  the  Chinese  physi- 
cians, sun-dried,  powdered  and  mixed  in- 
to a  paste  with  the  grease  from  the  bones 
of  the  Royal  Bengal  tiger.  Hence  we 
call  it  tung-ti-kang,  or  turtle-tiger- 
strength,  for  its  use  gives  you  the  mar- 
velous vigor  of  the  one  and  the  muscular 
strength  of  the  other." 

The  speaker  held  up  to  the  light  of  the 
gasoline  torch  a  dried  mud-turtle,  and 
turned  it  around  and  around  for  the  gap- 
ing crowd  to  admire.  He  was  arrayed  in 
a  fantastic  combination  of  Oriental  and 
Occidental  costumes,  tricked  out  with 
the  emblems  of  Christianity  and  Bud- 
dhism. He  had  a  bold,  handsome  face, 
keen  eyes  and  the  transparent  complex- 
ion of  a  boy,  and  the  tones  of  his  voice 
were  exceedingly  magnetic  and  persua- 
sive. 

"Oh,  men,"  he  continued,  "friends  and 
brothers  (for  the  One  God  of  many  names 
is  father  of  us  all),  why  will  you  continue 
to  surfer?  Why  forego  the  joys  of  life? 
Why  waste  your  money  on  quacks  who 
have  neither  the  power  nor  desire  to  heal 
you,  when  one  box  of  Turtle-tiger- 
strength  will  make  you  feel  like  new  men 
and  six  boxes  will  effect  a  permanent 
cure? 

"Thousands,  yes,  tens  of  thousands,  of 
afflicted  ones  have  used  my  remedy,  on 
which  we  promise  to  refund  the  price  if 
it  fails  to  relieve,  and  not  one,  I  raise  my 
hand  to  heaven  and  swear  by  all  I  hold 
sacred  and  holy,  not  one  has  got  his  money 
back." 

"I  can  believe  that,"  chuckled  the  doc- 
tor. 

"Turtle-tiger-strength,  dollar  a  box, 
dollar  a  box  while  they  last,"  barked  his 
companion,  moving  in  pink  kimona 
among  the  crowd.  "Tung-ti-kang,  only 


OvEliLAND  MONTHLY. 


one  dollar,  or  six  for  five,  and  your 
money  back  it'  it  fails  to  cure.'' 

"And  this  is  the  twentieth  century !" 
exclaimed  the  doctor.  "Human  nature 
changes  little!  I  had  a  call  some  time 
ago  from  a  class-mate  who  struck  town 
dead-broke.  He  had  his  diploma,  for  the 
fellow  was  brainy,  if  he  was  a  trifle  un- 
steady. Well  for  some  reason  he  couldn't 
work  up  a  practice;  people  didn't  trust 
him,  but  he  had  a  glib  tongue,  and  when 
he  told  me  his  hard  luck  story  I  could 
not  refuse  him  five  dollars. 

"Well,  sir,  he  took  that  money,  went 
around  to  a  paper-box  factory  and  ordered 
a  thousand  green  boxes,  one  ounce  size, 
and  shaped  like  a  star.  A  small  deposit 
set  them  working  on  the  order  and  se- 
cured him  three  or  foiir  dozen  boxes. 
Then  he  went  to  a  credit  grocer  and  se- 
cured a  hundred  pound  sack  of — well,  I'Jl 
tell  you  later. 

"With  the  balance  of  my  money  he  got 
a  shave,  a  hair-cut,  a  shine  and  a  supper. 

"After  supper  he  went  out  on  the  cor- 
ner, mounted  a  soap-box,  proclaimed  him- 
self as  Professor  So-and-So,  M.  D.,  told 
of  a  marvelous  spring  he  had  discovered 
(Spring  Valley,  I  guess),  and  when  he 
had  his  crowd,  produced  his  little  green 
boxes. 


"They  contained  a  preparation  of  his 
own  (so  he  claimed),  a  whitish,  translu- 
cent, saline  mineral,  used  in  every  part 
of  the  world ;  good  for  man  and  beast ;  a 
positive  relief  for  diseases  of  many  kinds. 
When  diluted  with  one  quart  of  water  and 
snuffed  up  -  the  nostrils,  it  relieved  ca- 
tarrh and  cleared  and  cleansed  the  mu- 
cous membranes.  As  a  gargle  it  curec 
sore  throat  and  prevented  that  drea 
scourge,  diphtheria,  As  a  lotion  it 
lieved  sore  eyes.  It  was  sure  death 
germs  and  prevented  decay. 

"None  guaranteed  unless  done  up 
green  starshaped  boxes  under  the  name 
Astral   Saline   Crystals.     One  dollar 
box,  six  for  $5. 

"Well,  the  public  had  often  bought  lit 
tie  red  boxes  and  little  white  boxes,  litt 
round  boxes  and  little  square  ones,  bi 
a  green,  star-shaped  box  was  somethu 
new.  They  kept  him  busy  handing  01 
Astral  Saline  Crystals  for  two  or  thre 
evenings,  after  which  time  he  suddenly 
left  town. 

"The  following  week  I  received  a  stat 
ment  for  a  bill  of  goods  from  my  grocer 
He  said  the  goods  had  been  ordered  fc 
my  use  by  my  colleague,  Professor  Sc 
and  So,  M.  I).  It  read :  'To  one  sack  roc 
salt,  $2.00.' " 


BY    ELIZABETH    LAMBERT    WOOD 


HE  FOUND  the  water 
hole  down  in  the  gulch 
where  the  sand  was 
loose  and  coarse.  The 
water  was  less  than  six 
inches  deep,  and  was 
scarcely  two  feet  across. 
But  she  could  see 
that  there  was  an  undeniable  seepage 
here — a  rare  thing  in  this  land  of  little 
water — which  the  unclaimed  bands  of 
burros  of  the  surrounding  mountains  as 
well  as  the  wandering  range  cattle  had 
not  been  slow  to  appropriate  for  the  cool- 
ing of  their  thirsty  throats. 

Marian,  the  girl  of  nerves,  shuddered 
at  sight  of  the  alkaline,  hoof-riled  water, 
and  dismounting,  smiled  to  herself  to  see 
with  what  avidity  her  pony  dipped  in  his 
nose  and  drank  with  long,  satisfying 
quaffs. 

Marian  sat  down  on  the  clean  sand 
beside  the  pool,  with  the  merciless  sun  of 
mid-day  beating  down  on  her  head,  and 
wondered  whether  she  ought  to  wait  till 
the  water  settled  again,  or  if  the  mere 
sight  of  the  pool,  shared  by  man  and 
beast  alike,  was  sufficient  to  quench  her 
thirst  until  she  had  'covered  the  long 
ride  back  to  the  settlement. 

Over  her  head  swung  a  hawk  in  wide 
circles,  and  Marian  raised  her  head 
quickly  at  sight  of  his  sweeping  reflection 
in  the  pool.  Something  in  t  le  sight 
seemed  to  stir  her  blood  to  action.  Leap- 
ing up,  she  threw  the  dragging  reins  back 
over  Spruce's  head,  trying  to  remember 
as  she  did  so  each  separate  injunction 
that  the  foreman  of  Double  Box  0  had 
given  her  about  mounting.  First  she 
carefully  took  into  her  left  hand  a  goodly 
tuft  of  staid  Spruce's  mane,  and  a  short- 
ened left  rein;  then  lifting  her  left  foot 
to  the  big  wooden  stirrup  and  taking  a 
firm  hold  of  the  horn,  she  managed  to 
hoist  herself  up,  but  it  was  not  without 
an  effort  of  considerable  pains.  The  fore- 
man, in  teaching  her,  had  told  her  to 
swing  up,  carefully  illustrating  his  words 
as  he  spoke.  But  Marian  did  not  exactly 
swing  up;  in  fact,  she  almost  plun^.d 


head  foremost  over  the  horse,  but  luckil} 
managed  to  check  herself  in  time. 

And  then  with  a  deep  sigh  she  settled 
into  the  saddle,  while  Spruce,  who  had 
been  knowingly  braced  for  the  encounter, 
quietly  recovered  himself  and  ambled  off. 
He  shook  his  wise  head  protestingly  when 
Marian  headed  him  toward  the  path  lead- 
ing diagonally  up  the  hill.  To  her  inex- 
perienced eyes  this  cattle  trail  seemed  to 
promise  the  .shortest  way  home,  but 
Spruce  knew  better. 

The  figure — the  horseman — who  had 
disturbed  the  hawk  into  flight,  had  been 
watching  the  girl's  unwonted  exertion 
with  keenest  interest  and  amusement  from 
the  tor>  of  the  ridge  above  the  water  hole. 

"The  new  teacher,  by  gum — boots  and 
all!"  he  soliloquized. 

Marian,  all  unconscious  of  any  one's 
proximitv,  was  riding  up  the  sloping  trail 
all  intent  on  her  own  thoughts.  She  was 
a  new  arrival  from  Iowa — her  old-fash- 
ioned mother  still  called  it  I-o-way — 
where,  throughout  Marian's  life-time,  she 
had  been  pinched  by  the  many  petty 
primpings  and  savings  of  her  environ- 
ment, until  a  single  reading  of  Wister's 
"Virginian"  had  sent  her  awakened  blood 
reeling  through  her  veins  with  the  sud- 
den srjlendor  of  her  vividly  imagined  pic- 
ture of  freedom  on  the  Western  ranges. 
She  had  horrified  her  family  into  firm- 
lipped  silence  by  her  sudden  departure 
alone  and  unacquainted  into  the  wilds  of 
Arizona.  On  her  arrival  she  had  taken 
the  school  examinations  in  Florence,  and 
having  successfully  passed  them,  was 
lucky  enough  to  receive  a  situation  in 
the  sparsely  settled  cattle  country  in 
the  foot-hills  of  the  Catalina  Mountains. 

The  cowboys  there — fine  chivalrous 
fellows  all — could  not  help  taking  her 
coming  as  a  huge  joke,  especially  her  top 
boots,  short  skirts  and  brand  new  revolver 
end  cartridge  belt,  in  which  she  had  in- 
vested much  of  her  scanty  horde  of  pocket 
money.  How  she  would  have  blushed  and 
how  her  eyes  would  have  blazed  had  she 
overheard  the  round  of  chuckles  at  her 
first  attempts  to  mount  sentle  old  Spruce, 


154 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


all  booted  and  spurred  and  armed  as  she 
was ! 

To-day,  Curl  Ealey  was  a  bit  amazed 
to  see  how  lightly  she  sat  the  leather  once 
she  was  up.  Touching  his  horse  with  the 
spur,  he  struck  across  a  sharp  ravine  to 
cut  off  her  direct  path.  "I  wonder  if  she 
thinks  she's  going  home  ?"  he  said  to  him- 
self. "She's  headed  straight  for  Arai- 
vapai,  sixty  miles  away.  We  fellows  will 
have  to  rope  her  to  keep  her  from  stray- 
ing." 

Marian  kept  straight  on,  all  uncon- 
scious of  the  disturbance  of  her  solitary 
ride.  She  was  wrapped  in  a  reverie  of  de- 
light. Before  her,  in  the  distance,  moun- 
tain range  succeeded  mountain  range  un- 
til the  last  slipped  awav  into  the  dim  and 
hazy  blue  of  the  horizon.  The  yellow 
grass  beneath  her  pony's  feet  lay  over  the 
multitude  of  surrounding  slopes  like  a 
sheet  of  mellow  sunshine.  Here  and 
there  about  her  grew  scattered  live  oak 
trees — giant  fellows — who  scorned  the 
paltry  growth  of  a  short  century  or  two, 
they  who  had  already  felt  the  weight  of 
a  half  thousand  years.  Marian's  heart 
began  to  beat  lightly  once  again  in  spite 
of  the  heavv  burden  of  her  thirty-one 
years.  "After  all,"  she  thought  to  herself 
with  a  sudden  thrill,  "I  am  young;  I 
don't  care  what  the  folks  at  home  think. 
Even  the  oaks  feel  young  on  a  day  like 
this.  I  am  young,  young,"  and  her 
thought  grew  into  a  silent  song,  singing 
in  hti  heart  to  the  tune  of  the  outpour- 
ing ecstacy  of  a  thrush  who  had  appropri- 
ated the  topmost  bough  of  the  hackberry 
near  at  hand,  and  was  heralding  to  the 
world  that  he  also  was  young — voung. ! 

Life  pulsed  up  and  over  Marian  in  a 
rush  of  delight.  The  glorious  air  was 
drawn  down  into  her  quivering  nostrils 
with  wonderin^  exhilaration. 

Back  in  Iowa  nothing  was  wasted, 
thought  Marian  now  with  contempt.  Thia 
lesson  had  been  thumped  into  Marian's 
revolting  brain  again  and  aerain  through- 
out her  uninteresting  life.  Even  every 
scrap  of  potato  paring  must  be  cooked  in- 
to an  evil-smelling  mess  for  the  chickens 
and  pigs,  which  they,  the  people,  in  the 
natural  course  of  .economy,  would  con- 
sume again.  The  verv  flesh  of  the  ever- 
present  pork  was  flavored  with  table 
scraps.  Ugh ! 

Out   here   in   this  glorious,   mountain- 


scented  country  everything  was  waste — 
waste  of  land,  waste  of  rocks,  and  waste 
of  skv.  Whole  seas  of  acreage  lay  in 
unused  waste  all  about  her,  the  very  sight 
of  which  sent  dizzy  sparkles  of  delight 
dancing  through  Marian's  rejuvenated 
brain.  She  loved  it  all — she,  the  old  maid 
of  the  Iowa  hamlet,  was  young  again  here 
and  could  ride  and  dance  and  sing  to 
her  heart's  content,  and  as  if  in  echo  to 
the  thrush,  she  burst  out  into  melody- 
just  a  scrap  of  a  Kevin's  lullaby — but  ro 
Curl  Raley,  below  her  in  the  oak-lin 
ravine,  it  had  all  the  charm  of  an  angel 
song. 

Suddenbr  the  voice  ceased,  and  Rale; 
glanced  warily  up  the  slope  to  where  sh 
sat,  quite  still,,  on  her  horse.  She 
caught  the  stroke  of  his  horse's  hoof  o 
the  granite  strewn  ground,  and  ha 
checked  her  horse,  fear  for  the  insta 
rampant  in  her  heart.  She  might 
awaiting  a  Mexican  or  Indian  ruffian'; 
advent  into  her  world — she  knew  n 
what! 

Raley  could  see  her  quite  plainly  no 
with  eves  dilated,  her  hand  on  the  pisto 
which  she  had  half-slipped  from  its  ho 
ster.  She  was  not  to  be  caught  nappin 

Then  as  Curl  Raley  swung  into  view  o: 
his  horse,  the  defiant  fire  burned  out 
her  eyes,  leaving  only  the  soft  glow 
their    warm,    brown    depths.      Her   voi 
was  still  trembling  as  she  said  choki 
Iv:  "For  a  minute  1  didn't  know  it  w 
you,  Mr.  Raley.     I  am  just  going  home. 

He  said  not  a  word  to  her  about  t 
strange  direction  of  her  trail  homewar 
but  fell  in  beside  her,  and  after  they  hi 
crossed  a  ravine  or  two,  she  was  faci 
the  settlement  again,  and  had  not  a  s 
picion  that  her  horse's  head  had  be 
turned  short  about. 

At  last  she  said,  giving  a  funny  little 
squint  at  the  sun  as  if  she  were  already 
enough  of  a  Westerner  to  tell  the  time 
b-  its  elevation : 

"Do  you  know  what  time  it  is?" 

"Two  o'clock!" 

"Two  o'clock !  Not  really !  No  wonder 
I'm  so  hungry.  I've  got  bacon,  crackers, 
cheese  and  tea  for  lunch.  Won't  you  help 
me  eat  it?"  Her  invitation  was  cordial;  it 
was  reallv  very  nice  to  have  the  escort  if 
a  resourceful  man  in  this  untried  wilder- 
ness. 

Now,  in  a  cattle  country,  a  man  seldoi 


ie 


THE  EOMANCE  OF  TANKY  GULCH. 


155 


or  never  takes  a  snack  of  lunch  to  eat  at 
noon,  not  even  on  a  rodeo,  when  he  may 
be  out  from  sun-up  to  long  past  dark.  To- 
day, Curl  Kaley  had  only  been  out  for 
four  hours,  and  had  expected  to  have 
nothing  to  eat  for  many  hours  more,  but 
suddenly  he  found  himself  seized  with  an 
unconscionable  appetite. 

Before  she  expected  his  answer  he  was 
off  his  horse  and  had  come  to  her  side 
to  lift  her  down. 

But.  she  motioned  him  back  with  grave 
earnestness.  "I  want  to  learn  to  do  it 
myself/'  she  said,  very  seriously,  "be- 
cause most  of  the  time  I  will  be  riding 
alone,  and  I  want  to  learn  how." 

Eaiey  privately  doubted  the  truth  of 
this  statement,  but  she  was  so  honest  in 
her  thirst  for  knowledge  that  he  answered 
her  with  all  the  seriousness  he  could  com- 
mand, and  a  minute  later  she  was  on  the 
ground  without  the  help  of  a  hand. 

"Good !"  he  said  spontaneously. 

She  was  so  thoroughly  pleased  with 
herself  that  she  smiled  gaily  up  into  his 
face  as  she  thanked  him,  and-  on  the  in- 
stant, he  threw  off  his  mask  of  dignity, 
assumed  in  her  presence,  and  laughed  with 
her  with  all  the  pleasure  of  a  boy  again. 

He  hurriedly  gathered  together  bits  of 
dried  cactus  and  oak  twigs  for  a  tiny 
fire,  while  she  arranged  the  tiny  slices  of 
bacon  on  the  wee  broiler  she  produced 
from  the  pocket  of  her  saddle  bag.  The 
little  tea-pot  was  filled  from  his  canteen, 
and  was  soon  sing-ing  a  merry  little  tune 
of  its  own  over  the  blaze,  while  the  two, 
the  girl  and  the  man,  made  the  discovery 
that  they  would  both  have  to  drink  their 
tea  out  of  the  only  CUD  in  camp — Marian's 
pretty  silver  folding  one. 

"I  never  thought  of  having  company/' 
Marian  said  rueiully,  taking  her  sip, 
which  was  by  common  consent  to  be  tha 
first,  with  her  pretty  red  lips  daintily 
touching  the  cup's  rim.  "I'll  have  to  send 
to  Tucson  for  another  one." 

"Not  much!"  protested  Curl  with  em- 
phasis. "I  like  this  heaps  better." 

Fo7-  an  instant  Marian  made  no  answer. 
Her  mind  had  been  carefully  trained  to 
have  a  serious  turn.  She  looked  at  him 
doubtfully;  then,  with  a  frank,  open 
smile,  she  said: 

"Well,  do  you  know,  I  believe  I  do,  too." 
At  the  half-serious  simplicity  of  her 
words,  Curl  threw  back  his  handsome 


head  and .  laughed  with  genuine  relish. 
"I  believe  we'll  agree  all  right,"  he  said, 
still  laughing. 

N'ever  was  there  such  bacon  as  these  two 
broiled  that  day  over  that  little  fire. 
Marian  was  quite  sure  by  the  time  the 
meal  was  readv  that  there  was  not  an- 
other man  who  could  coax  a  fir°  into  such 
a  steady,  glowing  blaze.  And  the  crack- 
ers! Who  had  ever  before  tasted  such  de- 
licious crackers,  flecked  with  tiny  mites 
of  strawberry  jam  from  a  wee  pot  that 
Marian  fished  out  of  her  saddle  bag.  The 
tea,  sipped  sociably  together  out  of  the 
one  cup,  was  nectar  itself. 

And  then,  all  too  soon,  the  tiny  fire 
died  out,  the  crumbs  lav  scattered  about 
their  feet,  and  the  tea-pot  stood  empty 
and  cold. 

Long  after  this  the  two  sat  silent.  At 
last,  with  a  pang  of  surprise,  Marian  real- 
ized that  the  sun  was  going  down.  To- 
morrow there  would  be  school  again,  and 
all  of  its  manifold  duties.  To-day  held 
youth  and  life  and  laughter;  to-morrow 
sober  age  and  arduous  tasks.  In  spite 
of  herself  a  shaded  sadness  fell  over  her, 
veiling  the  beautiful  deep  softness  of  her 
brown  eyes. 

Curl  Ealey,  watching  her  from  the  shel- 
ter of  his  big  hat,  saw  the  weary  lines 
begin  to  settle  over  her  face,  where  lie 
saw  with  pity  that  they  had  long  before 
this  traced  a  nath  of  patient  protest 
against  this  life  of  unmated  '  loneliness 
with  all  its  pinching  economy,  which  only 
a  woman  can  know.  Sitting  there,  *ie 
no  longer  thought  of  lathing  at  her  com- 
ing into  this  unsettled  part  of  the  coun- 
try— he  understood. 

Hadn't  he  himself  known  much  of  this 
same  feeling  that  he  saw  she  was  now 
suffering,  in  those  days  when  as  a  boy  he 
lived  in  Chicago?  When  he  was  fourteen, 
not  half  her  age,  perhaps,  he  had  struck 
out  into  the  world  for  himself.  As  he  sat 
there  his  only  wonder  was  that  she  had 
been  so  patient,  that  vears  ago  she  had 
not  taken  up  the  shears  and  snipped  the 
lines  holding  her  to  the  old  prosaic  life 
she  instinctively  loathed.  He  knew  what 
she  must  have  endured — the  lines  of  her 
face  told  that — stifling  her  natural  long- 
ing for  big  things,  for  freedom.  And 
he  also  saw  that,  having  suffered  so  long, 
now  that  the  fragrance  of  freedom  was 
fairly  in  her  nostrils,  she  still  had  mo- 


156 


OVERLAID  MONTHLY. 


ments  when  she  doubted  the  truth,  the 
beautiful  truth  of  it  all. 

As  he  lay  there,  relaxed  full  length  on 
the  sand,  he  saw  a  vision  forminer — a  vis- 
ion of  liberty  for  both.  It  was  so  near 
that  he  could  almost  touch  it.  He  felt 
an  unaccountable  intuition  that  all  the 
forlorn  loneliness  of  his  hard  life  was 
nearing  its  end.  It  was  for  this  that  he 
had  been  laboring  and  hoarding  for 
years.  He  saw  now  that  never  before  had 
he  been  fully  ready  to  appreciate  life  and 
the  mystery  of  its  wonders.  He  wished 
he  might  tell  her,  might  lift  the  sad,  pa- 
tient lines  from  her  face ;  but  not  yet,  not 
yet!  That  glorious  moment  in  all  its 
fullness  would  cuuie. 

He  stirred  restlessly,  sat  up,  and  then 
suddenly  got  on  his  feet.  She  started 


violently  as  if  roused  from  absorbing 
thoughts. 

"Come,"  he  said,  erently,  reaching  down 
a  helning  hand  to  her.  It  was  a  strong, 
well-formed  hand,  deeply  tanned  with 
wind  and  sun. 

Laying  her  slim  hand  confidinglv  in  his 
warm  clasp,  she  allowed  him  to  lift  her 
to  her  feet  where  she  stood  silent,  her 
eyes  still  abstracted,  while  he  brought 
the  horses.  There  was  no  word  of  pro- 
test now  when  he  lifted  her  to  her  saddle. 
She  was  learning  a  lesson  of  a  different 
kind  now — a  lesson  of  widely  different 
import.  A  gentle  flushing  of  pink  stole 
up  into  her  cheeks  as  her  eyes  fell  on  his 
face-; — the  strong,  noble  face  of  the  kind 
of  men  she  had  dreamed  about  and  was 
now  to  know  in  her  dailv  life. 


AUGUST 

BY 
CLYDE    EDWIN    TUCK 


THE  dust-drooped  bushes  stand  beside  the  road 
That  winds  along  the  meadows  brown  and  dry; 
While  in  the  brook's  bed  where  but  lately  flowed 
A  wildly  gushing  stream,  the  butterfly, 
With  gorgeous  wings  half-ope'd,  rests  there  serene 

Upon  the  moist,  dark  ground  in  nook5;  of  shade, 
Near  where  some  sunbeam  frescoes  mosses  green, 

And  rainbows  formed  where  once  leaped  the  cascade. 

The  weary  hours  plod  by  with  leaden  feet 

While  nature  slumbers  'neath  a  wizard's  spell; 
The  golden  panniered  bees  seek  their  retreat: 

The  birds  are  mute,  far  in  the  stilly  dell 
Where  sylvan  sounds  and  scents  are  strangely  faint; 

The  silk-soft  hollyhocks,  moon-tinted,  bloom. 
And  'neath  the  trees  where  crows  make  their  complaint, 

The  asters  stand  with  tender  eyes  of  gloom. 

Yon  field  of  golden  tasseled  corn,  where  strays 

No  fresh'ning  breeze  among  their  withering  blades, 
Stretch  out  beneath  the  sun's  fierce,  torrid  rays : 

Now  comes  a  sweet,  cool  breath  from  out  the  glades 
Just  when  each  gasping  plant  seems  death  to  woo; 

A  shadow  spreads  its  wings  and  o'er  the  plain 
And  hill  all  nature  hastens  to  renew 

Her  green  robes  in  the  life-restoring  rain. 


A   PART    OP   THE    BAND   THAT   WAS    SOLD  TO    THE     "WILD    WEST    SHOW"    IN    1903. 

THE    PASSING    OF    THE    BUFFALO 

BY    JASO^    J.    JO^ES 


1  LLUSTRATED     WITH     PHOTOGRAPHS. 


HE    HISTORY    of   the 

American  bison  or  buf- 
falo has  been  written 
and  re-written  many 
times  over  by  able  writ- 
ers, until  to-day  the 
reading  public  is  thor- 
oughly familiar  with 
each  and  every  trait  and  characteristic  of 
that  lordly  animal. 

At  the  same  time,  the  singularity  of 
its  habits,  its  massive  frame  and  the  pio- 
turesqueness  of  its  physical  appearance 
ever  tend  to  increase  our  admiration  and 
to  arouse  an  eagerness  within  us  to  know 
more,  still  more,  regarding  the  noblest 
beast  that  is  indigenous  to  American  soil. 
Had  our  fore-fathers  taken  some  pre- 
cautions to  protect  the  buffalo,  instead  of 
lending  their  aid  to  the  ruthless  slaugh- 


ter, even  to  the  very  verge  of  complete 
extermination,  we  would  not  of  necessity 
to-day  be  compelled  to  provide  recruiting 
stations  in  the  wav  of  parks  and  reserves 
to  insure  the  preservation  of  at  least  a 
remnant. 

The  accounts  of  the  earlier  explorers  of 
North  America,  especially  those  of  the 
Spaniards,  tend  to  prove  that  the  buffalo 
formerly  ranged  over  the  greater  part  of 
the  country  lying  between  the  Atlantic 
seaboard  and  the  Mississippi  Eiver.  But 
civilization  gradually  pushed  them  west- 
ward, encroaching  more  and  still  more 
upon  their  domain,  until  at  the  beginning 
of  the  nineteenth  century  no  buffalo  were 
to  be  found  east  of  the  Mississippi.  They 
then  took  to  the  great  plains,  ranging 
westward  to  the  Rocky  Mountains  and 
from  Texas  northward  into  central  Can- 


158 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


A  PORTION  OP  THE  PARK  HERD  CALMLY 
BROWSING  UPON  SHORT  SAGE-BRUSH 
AND  THE  SCANT  GRASS  UPON  ONE  OF 
THE  BARREN  HEIGHTS  OVERLOOKING 
THE  SILVERY  YELLOWSTONE. 

ada.  Over  this  vast  pasture,  as  late  as  the 
seventies,  they  roamed  in  such  numbers 
that  the  enumeration  of  them  seems  in- 
credible. 

The  Indians,  also,  were  crowded  west- 
ward by  their  white  enemies,  and  owing 
to  their  nomadic  mode  of  living,  they 
naturally  followed  the  big  game,  realiz- 
ing that  it  afforded  them  the  easier  means 
of  gaining  a  livelihood.  But  the  Indian 
rarely,  if  ever,  maliciously  destroyed  the 
game  until  he  was  taught  by  the  white 
man.  When  he  wanted  meat,  he  killed 
a  buffalo,  his  squaw  dressed  it  and  pre- 
pared the  robe  for  future  use.  The  red 
man  in  the  early  days  never  troubled  him- 
self about  where  the  winter's  provisions 
for  his  tribe  were  to  be  secured.  Though 
it  often  harmened  that  the  lazy,  ever-neg- 
ligent bucks  would  let  the  opportune  time 
slip  bv.  when  they  would  be  compelled 
to  make  long  journeys  in  severe  wintry 
weather  to  procure  a  supply  of  food  for 
their  lialf-famished  people.  The  meat 
appeased  their  hunger,  the  great,  shaggy 
robes  shielded  their  persons  from  the  most 
intense  cold;  therefore,  the  buffalo  was 
doubly  dear  and  valuable  to  them.  Tn 
aftei  vears,  when  the  whites  began  to  en- 


croach upon  the  Indian's  most  precioi 
hunting  grounds  and  to  wantonly  destrc 
his  most  precious  game,  the  latter  look- 
upon  it  with  awe  and  suspicion  and  ange 
was  at  once  kindled  in  his  heart.  We  mu- 
agree  with  the  red  man  to-day  when 
says:  "The '  white  man  has  'taken  01 
hunting  grounds  and  destroyed 
game." 

When  we  realize  what  enormous  her 
of  buffalo  roamed  the  plains  even  as  lat 
as  1875.  it  is  a  mystery  to  us  to  know  hoi 
they  could  have  been  so  completely  e 
terminated  in  less  than  one  short  decad 

In  1868  began  the  wholesale  slaughter 
of  this  animal,  and  from  the  above  date 
until  1881,  or  a  period  of  thirteen 
a  ceaseless  war  was  waged  against  thes 
helpless  brute?.  And  to  what  purpose! 
When  the  Kansas  Pacific  Railroad  hac 
been  extended  far  enough  west  to  read 
the  buffalo  count ry,  the  carbon  works  oi 
St.  Louis  and  other  places  began  payii 
$8  per  ton  for  all  the  bones  that  migl 
be  shipped  to  them.  The  natural  cons 
quence  was  that  the  hide,  horn  and  bone 
seekers  formed  brigades  in  partnershij 
against  these  vast  herds.  The  hide  anr 
horn  seekers  were  naturally  very  welcome 
fore-runners  of  the  bone  seekers.  In  su-:h 
numbers  did  they  slaughter  the  buffalo 
that  in  particular  localities,  it  is  said,  on? 
might  have  walked  all  day  upon  the  car- 
casses without  stepping  upon  the  ground. 
Kansas  alone,  in  the  thirteen  years  of 
extermination,  received  $2,500,000  for 
bones.  It  required  eight,  carcasses  to  make 
a  ton  of  bones,  so  it  would  have  required 
32,000,000  buffalo  skeletons  to  bring  the 
above  sum  of  money. 

Win.  F.  Cody  (Buffalo  Bill)  was  the 
expert  buffalo  hunter.  But  he  never  care- 
lessly massacred  them,  except  in  rare 
cases,  and  then  to  have  a  little  fun  only, 
or  to  show  his  skill  as  an  expert.  He  was 
employed  as  hunter  by  the  construction' 
company  of  the  Kansas  Pacific  in  1868, 
and  in  eighteen  months'  time  killed  5,000 
buffalo,  which  were  consumed  by  th<3 
1,200  track  layers. 

The  great  herds  often  delayed  trains 
for  several  hours  at  a  time.  Colonel  Henry 
Inman,  author  of  "The  Old  Santa  Fe 
Trail,"  gives  an  account  of  the  West- 
bound passenger  on  the  Kansas  Pacific 
being  delayed  from  9  a.  m.  till  5  o'clock  in 
the  evening  by  the  passage  of  one  continu- 


THE  PASSING   OF  THE  BUFFALO. 


151) 


cms  herd.     To  the  north,  west  and  south, 
as  far  as  the  vision  could  scan,  surged  a 
•solid  black  mass  of  affrighted  buffalo  in 
their  irresistible  course. 

A  party  of  horsemen  rode  for  three 
consecutive  days  through  one  continuous 
herd,  Avhich  must  have  numbered  millions. 

At  first  appearance,  these  vast  herds 
grazing  on  the  plains  seemed  to  be  oria 
intermingled  mass,  but  on  a  closer  in- 
spection the  whole  was  found  to  be  com- 
posed of  hundreds  of  lesser  herds.  Each 
of  these  miniature  groups  were  guarded 
bTT  sentinels,  which  were  composed  of  the 
chainpion  bulls,  while  the  cows  and  calves  ' 
grazed  toward  the  center.  The  little 
yellow  calves  looked  very  awkward,  yet 
thev  were  agile  as  lambs  and  almost  as 
playful.  Nothing  was  more  dangerous 
than  a  buffalo  cow  with  a  young  calf.  She 
would  fight  with  the  energy  of  despair 
when  her  young  were  endangered. 

These  immense  herds  were  often  the 
best  objects  of  sport  for  the  tourists,  who 
were  out  most  generally  for  the  mere  nov- 
elty of  the  trip.  In  many  places  on  either 
side  of  the  railway  track,  the  ground  was 
lined  with  the  carcasses  of  buffalo  which 
had  served  as  mere  targets  for  the  folly 
of  the  pleasure  seekers. 

The  buffalo  were  animals  of  migratory 
habits.  Very  seldom  were  .they  to  be 
found  on  the  barren  plains  in  winter, 
yet  in  some  favored  places  in  the  moun- 
tain meadows,  where  food  and  shelter 
coujd  be  had,  small  herds  were  often 
found  in  the  winter  season.  But  the 
regular  winter  rendezvous  of  this  animal 
was  far  to  the  south,  on  the  sunny  pas- 
tures of  Texas  and  Indian  Territory. 

On  the  appearance  of  the  first  verdure 
of  spring  thev  would  begin  their  annual 
journey  nortliward,  where,  on  the  wids- 
extencled  plains,  they  would  spend  the 
loner,  bright  summer  days  in  perfect  peace 
and  contentment  until  the  cold  blasts 
from  the  north  drove  them  south  again. 

Some  Indians  believed  that  all  the 
buffalo  that  went  north  each  summer  per- 
ished there,  and  that  just  as  many  more 
came  from  the  south  the  next  year.  Sd- 
tanta,  chief  of  the  Comanches,  claimed 
that  all  of  the  buffalo  came  out  of  a  big 
cave  in  Texas,  and  that  none  of  the  vast 
multitudes  which  went  north  in  the 
spring  returned  in  the  fall,  but  all  per- 
ished that  year,  and  that  year  after  ye-ir 


the  magic  cave  would  hatch  out  just  as 
many  more  to  meet  the  same  fate  as  they 
journeyed  northward. 

But  just  how  the  old  chief  accounted 
for  the  scarcity  of  the  buffalo  in  after 
years  we  are  not  prepared  to  say.  But  he 
must  have  surmised  that  the  ever-increas- 
ing whites  had  molested  his  never-failing 
incubator  in  the  south-land. 

Stampeded  buffalo  were  very  danger- 
ous. They  ran  with  a  mad  fury  that  w  is 
simply  irresistible.  If  hunting  parties 
or  emigrants  were  caught  within  the 
course  of  one  of  these  wild  onsets  on  the 
open  prairie  it  meant  certain  death  to 
them.,  except  that  something  could  be  done 
immediately  to  divert  the  terrible  mo- 
mentum of  the  affrighted  mass.  When  no 
other  means  of  escape  were  possible,  hunt- 
ers would  seek  the  weakest  point  in  the 
front  rank  and  shoot  down  the  oncoming 
buffalo,  which  were  quickly  used  as  the 
only  means  of  protection.  Often-times 
these  great  stampedes  lasted  two  or  three 
days,  and  many  thousands  of  buffalo 
were  killed  in  the  awful  jams  in  their 
panic  careering  over  the  broken  country. 

Wihen  the  Kansas  Pacific  was  completed 


THE  MONARCH  OF  THE  YELLOWSTONE 
PARK  HERD  EATING  HAY.  PHOTOGRAPH 
WAS  TAKEN  BY  CREEPING  UP  TO  THE 
HIGH  FENCE  WHILE  THE  BIG  BULL  WAS 
BUSILY  ENGAGED. 


THE  PASSING  OF   THE  BUFFALO. 


161 


it  cut  the  buffalo  country  in  twain  and 
divided  the  many  millions  into  two  enor- 
mous herds — the  northern  and  the  south- 
ern. The  southern  herd  shrunk  the 
faster  under  the  blood-thirsty  array  of 
pelt,  horn  and  bone  •  seekers,  because  of 
the  more  openness  of  the  country  over 
which  it  ranged,  and  by  the  close  of  the 
year  1878  scarcely  a  land-mark  remained 
to  show  that  its  countless  numbers  ever 
existed.  Yet  the  northern  herd  survived 
the  southern  but  five  years,  being  com- 
pletely destroyed  in  1883.  An  occasional 
small  band  was  encountered  some  years 
after  this  in  the  wild,  broken  country, 
whither  they  had  taken  refuge,  of  neces- 
sity adapting  themselves  to  the  habits  of 
their  more  wary  cousins.  But  before  the 
close  of  the  eighties,  some  of  these  were 
slaughtered  and  the  remainder  taken  into 
custody. 

But,  alas,  the  buffalo  are  gone  from 
the  great  plains  of  the  West.  No  more 
will  their  huge  frames  dot  the  unbroken 
horizon.  No  more  will  they  beat  the 
deep-trodden  paths  to  a  welcome  nu- 
cleus, the  clear  running  mountain  stream. 
Could  the  old  trappers  and  hunters 
again  wander  over  the  once  rich  lands  of 
the  buffalo  as  they  traversed  them  thirty 
years  ago,  they  would  sigh  to  find  that 
welcome  beast  of  the  plains  no  more.  Their 
hearts  would  ache  when  they  realized  the 
desolation  that  has  been  brought  about 
in  that  short  period  of  time. 

No  more  could  they  defy  the  wintry 
blasts  with  the  great,  shaggv  robes  as  jf 
old.  No  more  would  their  tents  be  stocked 
with  jerked  buffalo  to  feed  them  and  their 
companions  until  the  long-looked-for 
spring  appeared. 

And  again,'  let  us  glance  briefly  at  the 
red  man's  position  to-day.  He  stands 
alone.  Though  he  has  donned  to  some 
extent  the  garb  of  the  white  man,  yet  be 
is,  properly  speaking,  the  same  savage 
to-day  as  when  our  ancestors  first  knj>v 
him.  He  has  been  driven  from  place  10 
place,  or  wherever  the  white  man  has 
seen  fit  to  send  him.  He  is  to-day 
scourged  to  a  narrow  strip  of  country  and 
compelled  to  live  there  by  a  power  which 
he  knows  he  dares  not  resist.  Within  his 
own  limited  borders  the  game  of  every 
description  has  become  almost  extinct. 
By  necessity  he  is  compelled  to  make  long 
journeys  in  pursuit  of  provisions.  He 


remembers,  too,  the  many  pints  of  whis- 
key obtained  with  buffalo  robes  in  days 
gone  by.  Beautiful  robes !  dressed  and 
nicely  ornamented,  which  had  cost  the 
squaws  many  hours  of  labor,  were  bar- 
tered for  one  pint  of  whisky  each,  four- 
fifths  of  which  was  water,  but  no  matter, 
just  so  it  had  the  taste  of  "fire-water." 
Whisky  being  such  a  powerful  incentive, 
each  robe  the  Indian  possessed  generally 
received  the  very  significant  name  of  "a 
pint  of  whisky/' 

There  are  at  the  present  time  about 
1,800  buffalo  in  the  United  States.  They 
of  course,  are  to  be  found  only  in  re- 
serves, parks  and  private  herds.  The 
largest  of  these,  perhaps,  is  the  Pablo- 
Allard  herd  on  the  Flathead  "Reservation 
in  Northwestern  Montana.  It  numbers 
over  400  head  and  they  are  as  nearly  in 
their  native  state  as  any  in  our  country 
to-day.  In  1892  this  herd  numbered  only 
75.  They  would  perhaps  exceed  a  thou- 
sand at  this  time  had  not  several  been 
sold  from  time  to  time.  Four  years  ago 
some  fifteen  or  twenty  head  were  sold  to 
the  "Wild  West  Show,"  and  two  vears  ago 
fifty  were  shipped  to  the  "101"  Ean;;h 
in  Indian  Territory.  This  herd  ranges  .in 
the  foothills  within  the  reservation.  The 
owners  value  them  at  thousands  of  dol- 
lars. They  are  closely  guarded  to  pre- 
vent their  straying  too  far  away.  It  is 
a  pretty  sight  in  summer  to  watch  them 
from  a  distance,  calmly  grazing  upon  the 
verdant  slopes.  Yet  one  does  not  da -e 
venture  close  to  them,  except  he  be  well 
protected,  for  they  will  make  an  attack 
without  giving  him  warning.  A  number 
of  them  were  exhibited  at  the  Missoula 
County  fair  five  years  ago,  but  they  were 
very  hard  to  manage.  One  of  the  big 
bulls  broke  through  every  enclosure  and 
ran  back  to  the  reservation,  a  distance  of 
twenty-five  miles,  against  all  resistance 
or  obstacles. 

There  are  also  between  thirty  and  forty 
head  of  "cataloes"  or  half-breed  buffab 
in  the  herd.  The  cross  is  between  the 
native  bull  and  the  buffalo  cow.  "Buffalo" 
Jones  (Col.  C.  J.  Jones),  recommends 
this  hybrid  form,  claiming  that  the 
"catalo"  is  harder,  more  able  to  stand  the 
blizzards,  and  digs  and  roots  in  the  deep 
snows  for  sustenance  where  ordinary  cat- 
tle would  perish.  Besides,  its  robe  rep- 
resents more  value  than  a  common  steer, 


162 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


being  far  superior  in  quality  even  to  the 
genuine  buffalo  robe.  The  hair  is  not 
so  long,  much  finer,  and  the  hide  not  so 
thick  and  stiff.  They  are  large  in  frame 
if  well  bred,  the  horns  being  perceptibly 
longer,  but  of  about  the  same  curvature 
and  color — jet  black — very  sharp  at  the 
point,  and  thick  at  the  base. 

The  herd  in  the  Yellowstone  National 
Park  numbered  107  old  ones  and  five 
calves  last  summer.  They  graze  over  a 
five  thousand  acre  pasture  which  is  en- 
closed by  an  eight-foot  fence  of  extra- 
heavy  wire  netting.  This  pasture  is  in 
the  northwest  portion  of  the  park,  near 
Mammoth  Hot  Springs.  A  new  pasture 
is  being  constructed  near  Soda  Buttes, 
some  miles  east  of  the  present  one,  and 
the  herd  will  be  divided.  The  land  with- 
in these  pastures  is  broken  and  barren, 
and  therefore  does  not  produce  much 
grass.  "Buffalo"  Jones  is  the  tender  of 
the  Park  herd,  it  being  his  duty  to  feed 
them  when  necessary,  and  it  is  necessary 
even  in  summer,  for  the  pasture  becomes 
very  dry  and  destitute  of  feed  at  times. 
Another  duty  which  devolves  upon  him 
is  to  protect  the  young  buffalo  from  the 
gray  wolves  and  mountain  lions,  which 
have  become  quite  numerous,  owing  to  the 
protection  of  game  in  general  around  the 
Park. 

The  United  States  Government  has 
heretofore  offered  to  buy  all  the  buffalo 
extant,  but  without  success. 

For  the  sake  of  preserving  at  least  a 
remnant  of  the  once  familiar  object  of 


the  plains,  and  for  the  object  lesson  ij 
would    teach    posterity,    we   believe    tha 
our  Government  should  own  and  protec 
all  the  buffalo  now  living. 

Those  now  owned  by  private  individual 
—which  Constitute  possibly  five-sixths  o 
all  in  exigence,  are  most  likely,  in  year, 
to  come,  t<_  fall  into  the  possession  of  care 
less  hands,  "hose  who  would  let  the  las 
vestige  of  th/m  be  annihilated. 

Our  public  domain  is  extensive  enougl 
and  will  be  for  years  to  come  for  th< 
buffalo  to  run  at  large  without  molesta- 
tion. The  grazing  lands  of  our  Westen 
States,  which  our  stock-raising  public 
have  so  completely  appropriated  to  them- 
selves, might,  in  part  at  least,  be  used  bj 
the  Government,  and  protected  by  each 
and  all  of  us,  as  a  place  of  both  refuge 
and  recruit  for  the  noblest  animal  that 
is  native  to  our  country. 

Nothing  could  be  more  beautiful  than 
to  have  the  numerous  herds  once  airain 
grace  the  verdant  slopes  of  our  lofty 
mountain  ranges  in  spring  time.  To  pro- 
tect the  buffalo  against  all  encroachments 
is  a  duty  that  should  pervade  the  mind  of 
every  American  citizen.  They  could 
never  be  so  numerous  as  they  once  were, 
yet  the  increase  in  one  short  decade  would 
be  almost  incredible,  if  properly  fos- 
tered. 

"Preserve  inviolate  the  scenes  of  days 
agone,  our  nation  prays; 

Yet  nothing  is  sadder  than  past  joys  re- 
membered in  unhappy  days" 


THE    RED-HEADED 

TWINS    OF    DOS 

PALOS 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  W.   R.   DAVENPORT. 


HIS  HERE  thing  of 
bein'  a  twin  ain't  all 
it's  cracked  up  to  be, 
specul  if  each  durned 
twin  is  as  like  t'other 
as  a  lookin'  glass  re- 
flectun  of  himself. 
My  brother  Jim's  as 
like  me  as  I'm  like  myself,  freckles,  green 
eyes  an'  all,  an'  his  head  ain't  none  lighter 
an'  none  darker.  They  is  no  other  twins 
in  Dos  Palos  scept  me  an'  Jim.  When 
we  was  kids,  my  mother  used  to  say  to 
the  one  what  was  handiest,  "If  you're 
Jim,  tell  Bill  I  want  him,  but  if  you're 
Bill,  come  here — -I  want  you."  Sure  pop, 
it  was  alwus  me  she  wanted,  'cause  Jim 
sorter  petted  himself  round  the  ole  lady. 
Well,  anyway,  atween  us  the  ole  lady 
didn't  have  no  tapioca,  for  when  we  savied 
why  we  was  alwus  the  other  feller. 

If  you  never  yet  met  Jim  you'll  know 
him  soon  as  you  meet  him;  that's  pro- 
vidin'  you  don't  give  him  the  glad  liand 
thinkin'  he's  me.  The  only  thing  what's 
diffrunt  about  us  is  our  ways  an'  habits, 
an'  so  forth.  Jim's  as  quick  to  spend 
money  as  I'm  willin'  to  save  it,  an'  Jim's 
as  fall  of  raisin'  the  devil  as  I'm  fond  of 
peace  an'  the  mountains,  an'  Jim's  as  fond 
of  borrowin'  as  he  is  of  spendin',  an'  him 
havin'  a  lot  of  family  pride  an'  affecshun, 
whv,  it's  just  natural  like  as  he'd  come 
furst  to  me  for  a  loan.  "Just  a  tenner; 
if  you  can't  spare  it,  a  five  spot  '11  do,"  he 
begins  easy  like,  an'  then  winds  up  willin' 
to  take  any  ole  durned  thing  I  kin  give 
him,  even  if  it  ain't  no  better  'n  fifty 
cents  or  a  quarter. 

Once  down  to  Firebaugh  he  got  playin' 
sorter  heavy  at  faro  bank,  an'  bein'  short 
of  funds  an'  me  far  away,  he  borrers  of 


a  man  down  there  by  the  name  of  Peters, 
an'  then  tells  Peters,  durn  his  soul,  to 
ride  out  to  the  Double  X  ranch  and  get  it 
back.  Jim  goes  range  ridin'  the  day  that 
there  Peters  was  to  visit,  an'  me,  innu- 
cunt  as  a  year] in',  meets  this  here  Peters 
kinder  welcum  like  at  the  gate,  never  a- 
seen  him  afore,  an'  says,  "Howdy  do, 
stranger,  what  kin  I  do  for  you  ?" 

"Stranger !"  he  growls,  sorter  down  in 
his  throttle  an'  squintin'  up  his  eyes  like 
he  didn't  like  my  looks.  "Stranger,  hey? 
It  wasn't  stranger  down  to  Firebaugh 
when  you  borrered  that  ten  spot  of  me, 
was  it,  you  freckled-faced,  green-eyed,  red- 
headed lobster?"  He  keeps  his  big  mouth 
open  like  he's  goin'  to  say  a  heap  more, 
but  just  friendly  like  I  puts  my  hand 
back  where  I  alwus  finds  my  six-shooter, 
an'  strange-like,  he  shuts  his  big  mouth 
an'  starts  for  the  road,  hasty  like,  an' 
keeps  a-goin'  that  way. 

Jim  comes  in  that  night  lookin'  some 
timid  like,  an'  'quires  'bout  my  health  an' 
so  forth,  an'  then  he  says,  off-hand  like, 
"All  'lone  to-day?" 

"Ain't  I  alwus  alone,  when  you  ain't 
here?"  I  says  back,  innucent. 

"Sorter  thought  you  might  a  had  corn- 
puny,"  gurgles  Jim,  lookin'  round  the 
camp  some  interested. 

"Maybe  1  did,"  says  I,  "and  maybe  you 
'11  help  to  bury  him  this  evenin'.  Some 
plaguey  fool  comes  ridin'  round  here  mis- 
takin'  me  for  some  durned  fool  what  looks 
like  me,  an " 

Poor  Jim  was  that  scared  that  I 
plugged  Peters  for  sure  that  he  begs  me 
to  hide  him  'cause  the  boys  what  seen  the 
deal'll  think  he  done  the  shootin'  'stead 
of  me.  I  let  the  truth  out  easy  like  after 
he  got  good  and  scared,  an'  then  he  makes 


164 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


me  a  sohim  promus  never  to  borrer  from 
anybody  'ceptin'  me — a  promus  none  to 
my  likin',  you  bet. 

You  see  what's  libul  to  come  to  a  man 
what's  got  a  twin  what  looks  more  like 
himself  than  he  does  himself;  but  if  1 
begins  to  tell  you  all  what  come  to  me 
through  Jim,  why  I  keep  a  talkin'  till  the 
end  of  the  week,  an'  wouldn't  be  none 
through  then. 

The  worst  ever  was  the  time  Jim  got 
stuck  on  a  littl'  half-breed  Mexicun-Por- 
tugee  gal  what  he  meets  at  a  dance  down 
to  Los  Banos.  This  littl'  gal  was  a  sky 
farmer's  gal.  Guess  you  know  what's  a 
sky  farmer.  No?  Well,  a  sky  farmer's  a 
feller,  usual  like  he's  a  Portugee,  or  a" 
Dago  or  a  Mex,  or  all  three  mixed  inter 
one,  what  has  a  ranch  'long  the  San 
Joaquin  Eiver  where  it's  good  for  farmin' 
about  six  months  a  year.  He  watches  the 
sky  a  plenty,  an'  when  things  don't  look 
his  way,  he  tips  and  takes  his  furnootur 
an'  his  horse,  durned  old  plugs,  you  bet, 
an'  his  pig,  ain't  never  got  more'n  one,  an' 


BILL. 


his  cows  an'  with  his  famulle  folleriiv 
ahind,  he  moves,  leavin'  the  old  shacks 
there.  Sure  pop,  when  it's  rained  all  over 
the  place,  an'  the  Joaquin's  flowed  over 
his  land  some,  back  he  comes  an'  plants 
hay,  an'  off  he  goes  agin,  an'  then  time  for 
hay  cuttin'  an'  balin'  back  he  comes  agin. 
The  sky  farmer  reasons  like  it's  time  for 
nothin'  to  lay  down  an'  bake  awaitin'  for 
the  rain,  so  he's  makin'  money  in  other 
parts.  But  you  bet  when  it's  rainin'  lots] 
an'  his  land's  lot  rich  for  hay,  he's  alwus 
back  on  time. 

No  sky  farmin*  in  mine.     I  don't  han- 
ker, somehow,  to  kill  six  months  with  thisj 
here  neck  of  mine  twisted  up  like  lookiri' 
at  a  sky  what  don't  alwus  look  to  suit. 

This  littl'  gal  what  Jim  gets  stuck  on 
was  a  sky  farmer's  gal,  an'  'cordin'  to 
Jim,  was  purty  as  a  colt's  what  curried. 
I'm  no  judge,  so  I  says  nothin'  'bout  her. 
looks  an'  so  forth,  but  when  Jim  took  toj 
ridin'  down  to  the  valley  to  see  her  every 
day  or  so,  I  gets  some  anxus  an'  sorter 
hint  around  makin'  'quires.  I  didn't  han- 
ker to  help  feed  a  gal  as  well  as  Jim— 
that's  what  it  means  for  me  if  Jim  takes 
to  double  harness,  'cause  Jim  can't  feed 
himself,  let  alone  a  gal,  even  if  she  ain't 
no  more'n  a  sky  farmer's  gal  an'  used  to 
nothin'. 

"Jim,"  says  I  one  day,  "what's  that 
gal's  name  an'  where's  her  ole  man's 
shack?" 

Jim's  freckles  turns  sorter  red,  an'  he 
gets  interested  in  his  boots,  lookin'  at  'em 
like  he's  never  seen  them  afore.  "Who?" 
he  says,  some  foolish. 

I  tells  him  what  I  thinks  of  him  then, 
an'  him  bein'  some  rattled,  he  tells  all 
about  her,  what  her  name  was,  an'  where 
she  lived,  an'  how  they  loved  each  other. 

"Rot !"  says  I,  but  sorter  to  myself,  not 
so's  to  hurt  Jim's  feelin's,  'cause  Jim's 
sensitive  like,  an'  can't  stand  much  hard 
talk,  specul  'bout  his  love  affairs.  Jim 
had  a  lot  of  them  afore  this  sky  farmer's 
gal  come  along,  but  none  never  took  °o 
bad  what  he  couldn't  eat  his  three  square 
meals  a  day. 

"Bill,"  he  says  after  a  while,  an'  sorter 
snuffles,  "could  you  let  me  wear  your  best 
close  to-morrer,  an'  might  you  put  a 
twenty  in  the  pockut  ?  I'm  broke,  honu.st, 
I  am,  an?  kin  1  take  your  horse  an'  saddle 
an'  bridle?  There's  a  friend  I  know 
what's  hankei-in'  for  a  ride  on  a  good  cay- 


THE  KED-HEADED  TWINS  OF  DOS  PALOS. 


165 


use  for  a  spell  back,  an'  this  here  friend 
won't  harm  nothin'  'cause  this  here  friend 
rides  like  a  full-fledged  bronco  buster 
what  served  time  at  the  busnus." 

Jim  kept  a-goin'  righ.t  on  but  I  couldn't 
stand  for  any  more  just  then,  an'  says 
"yesv  to  everything.  I  never  could  go 
them  snuffles  o'  Jim's. 

"What  time'll  you  be  wantin'  them?" 
F  asks,  after  sayin'  "yep." 

"'Bout  two,  an'  if "  He  snuffles 

agin. 

I  stampeded,  an'  didn't  hear,  not  to 
this  day,  what  else  he  was  thinkin'  I 
wouldn't  be  needin'  an'  he  would  be  want- 
ing pretty  bad. 

Sun  up  the  next  day,  Jim  gives  me  a 
hand  breakin',  a  two-year-old  what  I 
means  to  keep  handy  while  Jim  was  a 
borrerin'  of  my  best  outfit.  About  one 
erclock  Jim,  bein'  down  by  the  crick  tak- 
in'  a  wash  up,  I  jogs  off  down  the  road 
sorter  intendin'  givin'  the  colt  some  ex- 
ercise like,  an'  off-hand  to  visut  the  sky- 
farmer's  gal  an'  tell  her  how  Jim  stood 
'cordin'  to  finances.  I  alwus  hates  to 
see  people  cheated,  cards  or  matreemony 
specul  like. 

If  Jim  had  a  tole  me  how  that  there 
gal  of  his  couldn't  talk  no  lingo  but  Por- 
tugee-Mex,  atween  us  we'd  a  saved  a  pile 
of  trouble,  but  Jim  didn't,  an'  me  never 
mixin'  much  with  forreners,  can't  talk 
nothin'  but  good  Unitud  States. 

I  lopes  up  to  the  shack  pretty  fine,  an' 
out  she  comes,  jabberin'  away  an'  smilin' 
an'  blowin'  me  kisses,  like  I  could  savey. 
She  was  tickled  to  death  to  see  me,  but 
didn't  listun  to  nothin'  I  was  tellin'  her 
Tsout  Jim — just  kept  a  talkin'  an'  smilin' 
an'  blowin'  kisses.  By-un-bye  she  runs 
in,  an'  then  backs  out  agin  with  a  big 
bundle  under  her  arm  Mrhat  she  takes  sud- 
like  an'  throws  at  me,  an'  me  like  a  ninny, 
thinkin' 'it  was  for  Jim,  ties  it  on  front 
my  saddle,  mighty  secure. 

I  tells  her  a  lot  more  'bout  Jim,  just 
to  sorter  relieve  my  mind,  but  she  don't 
lisun  to  nothin',  but  climbs  right  up  aback 
on  me  on  that  colt  an'  there  she  sits  grip- 
pin'  me  by  the  ribs  with  her  hooks  an' 
grippin'  the  colt  by  the '  ribs  with  her 
hoofs,  never  asayin'  a  word  agin  that  colt 
what's  buckin'  like  blazes  an'  tearin' 
round  that  yard  like  a  bee  stung  him. 

"Slide !"  1  yells,  me  only  ridin'  with  a 
hackamore  an'  her  there  ahind  me  hoo- 


dooin'  things  an'  givin'  that  colt,  what 
thinks  a  lot  of  himself,  a  mighty  big 
chance  to  think  a  lot  more.  Well,  that 
gal  stuck  to  me  like  a  fly  sticks  to  fly 
paper,  an'  I  just  natshul  like  stuck  to 
that  fool  colt,  what  gets  so  durned  stuck- 
up  that  he  quit  the  yard.  He  took  us 
down  the  road  for  home,  goin'  like  he 
owed  somebody  money  back  there  at  the 
shack.  We  dusted  moren't  a  mile  of  that 
road,  when  I  sees  comin'  along  at  a  nice 
friendly  trot,  leadin'  my  horse  an'  best 
saddle  an'  bridle  ahind  him,  my  brother 
Jim,  all  slick  an'  shiny  in  my  new  close. 
The  gal,  bein'  pretty  snug  aback  of  me, 
sees  nothin'. 

Mv  intentung  bein'  good  to  middlin',  I 
means  to  say  "Hullo !"  when  we  gets 
close  to  Jim,  but  that  durned  colt,  takin' 
one  sad,  disgusted  look  at  Jim  in  my 
close,  turns  offer  the  road  an'  after  jump- 
in'  mighty  high  over  a  crick  an'  a  barbod 
wire  fence,  takes  a  short  cut  for  home, 
leavin'  the  ffal  in  the  crick  an'  me  atop  of 
the  barbed  wire  fence. 


^^  _-J  -^~r^?^Zi£z^ 


JIM/ 


166 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


"You  grass-eyed,  lobster-jawed,  turkey- 
egg-faced,  green-eyed  jealus  thief,"  yells 
Jim,  comin'  close  as  he  could,  furst  look- 
in'  at  me  an'  then  at  the  gal,  what  was  in 
the  crick  up-side  down.  "You  stole  my 
gal,  you  did !  You  forced  me  to  take  your 
close  an'  your  other  things  to  throw  me 
off  the  track,  you  did.  You  wanted  to 
alope,  you  did — just  to  cheat  me  out  of 
matreemony  to-day."  Jim  -snuffles  when 


self  from  that  there  fence.  The  gal  by 
this  time  gets  right  side  up,  but  can't  see 
nothin'  cause  her  eyes  is  full  of  mud,  just 
chuck  full,  an'  she  can't  say  nothin'  'cause 
her  mouth  is  chuck  full  of  mud,  too. 

^  By-an'-bye,  Jim  gets  wind  agin  .an'  be- 
gins to  say  some  more  'bout  my  looks  an' 
ways,  an'  so  forth,  an'  by  then  that  gal 
has  her  eyes  some  clear  of  mud,  an'  looks 
at  Jim  sittin'  there  all  slick  an'  shiny  on 


YOU    GRASS-EYED 


he  thinks  of  what  I  done,  an'  snuffles  agin 
when  he  looks  at  his  gal  in  the  crick. 
"You  be  a  nice  brother,  cheatin'  my  gal. 
You  told  her  you  was  a  millunare,  you 
did."  Jim  stops  for  want  of  wind,  an'  , 
me  still  bein'  a-straddle  that  barbed  wire 
fence  what  ain't  none  too  pleasunt,  I  says 
nothin',  but  keeps  right  on  undoin'  my- 


JEALDS  THIEF;    YELLS  JIM. 


his  horse.  "Jeem,"  she  says,  in  a  voice 
sad  like  an'  some  muddy,  an'  then  round 
she  turns  an'  spots  me,  who  don't  look 
none  slick  or  shiny,  my  hat  bein'  some 
half  mile  back  an'  my  "chaps"  bein'  some 
friendly  with  that  barbed  wire  fence 
"Jeem,"  she  yells,  spittin'  out  more  mud. 
"Jeem,  Jeem,  J-e-e-m!"  An'  then  she 


THE  EED-HEADED  TWINS  OF  DOS  PALOS. 


167 


gits  outer  that  crick  an'  takin'  one  good- 
day  peep  at  Jim  an'  anuther  at  me,  she 
starts  down  that  there  road,  runnin'  like 
she  seen  spooks  an'  yellin'  like  the  spooks 
was  after  her. 

Jim  was  some  surprised  when  he  sees 
her  lunnin'  oft'  like  that,  but  me  atop  of 
that  fence  was  none  inturested. 

"Now  Marietta's  mad,"  snuffles  Jim, 
lookin'  at  me  like  I  done  him  dirt  on  pur- 
pus. 

"Mad,  is  she?"  I  says,  some  angry. 
"She  ain't  got  no  reesun  for  to  be  mad. 
If  there's  anybudy  round  here  what's  got 
a  right  to  be  that,  why,  that  persun's  me. 
Ain't  it  bad  enuff  to  be  taken  for  a  fool, 
like  you  without  bein'  left  a  straddle  of 
this  here  fence,  tied  up  wit  hit  like  a 
yearlin'  what  never  seen  it  afore?  You 
shut  your  mouth  till  I'm  off  this  here 
fence,  'cause  if  you  don't  I'll  shut  it  for 
you  when  I  get  off." 

That  there  speel  shuts  Jim's  mouth 
pretty  quick,  an'  then  leavin'  my  horse 
there  in  the  road  for 'me,  he  rides  off  home 
snufflin'  like  he  was  sorry  he  lost  that 
little  gal. 

It  took  more'n  two  days  to  catch  that 
colt,  what  was  runnin'  round  pretty  fresh, 


a-carryin'  that  bundle  with  him,  what  be- 
longs to  the  sky  farmer's  gal,  not  countin' 
my  saddle  an'  hackamore. 

Jim  an'  me  decided  we  hankered  none 
to  give  that  gal  her  bundle,  seem'  as  that 
fool  gal  thinks  Jim  a  double  spook,  so 
Jim  an'  me  not  able  .none  to  use  what's 
in  that  there  bundle,  makes  a  furst-rate 
scarecrow  outer  it.  We  ain't  seen  a  crow 
round  the  place  sence;  asides  it  scared  a 
coyote  most  to  death  one  night.  Mr.  Coy- 
ote comes  round  soft-like  in  the  moon- 
light an'  sees  that  there  scarecrow  blowin' 
in  the  breeze.  That  Mr.  Coyote's  seen 
scare-crows  a-plenty  afore,  but  not  with 
women's  frilly  trappin's  a-wavin'  in  the 
breeze.  The  old  feller  gives  one  mighty 
scared  yell,  an'  runs  home  an'  we  ain't 
seen  much  of  him  sence,  you  bet. 
.  Jim  snuffles  some  for  a  week,  but  cheers 
up  sudden-like  when  I  sends  him  for  a 
time  to  Firebaugh,  lettin'  him  wear  my 
new  close  an'  doublin'  that  twenty  in  the 
pockut.  It  alwus  costs  money  to  make 
Jim  quit  that  there  snufflin',  but  it's  lota 
worth  it  to  me,  what  hates  snufflin'  worse 
'n  rattlers,  an'  'sides  that,  Jim  forgets 
'bout  matreemony  for  a  spell,  an'  that's 
worth  a  heap  to  me,  too. 


By  Raymond  Bartlett. 

DRAWINGS  BY  CLYDE  COOKE. 

The  white  foam  gathers  'round  the  prow, 

And  the  salt  winds  flying  free; 
Yet  what  care  we  for  the  depth  below, 
And  the  turmoil  of  the  sea. 

Men's  lives  on  land  grow  double, 
Eeplete  with  care  and  trouble, 

Ho,  then,  for  the  swing  of  the  sea. 

We  scorn  the  shore  and  the  breakers'  roar, 

And  we  fear  the  harbor  mouth; 
With  sloping  masts  o'er  the  ocean's  floor, 
We  tack  and  veer  to  the  south. 

With  the  brisk  salt  breeze  before  us, 
And  the  sea-bird  sweeping  o'er  us, 
We're  the  gipsies  of  the  sea. 


In  the  teeth  of  the  gale,  we  laugh  at  the  hail, 

And  the  whitecaps  seething  under ; 
When  the  lashing  swells  beat  o'er  the  rail, 
And  the  smoking  seas  asunder. 
With  dipping  prow  we  labor, 
We  beat  round  cape  and  harbor, 
We're  the  children  of  the  storm. 

We  hear  the  bells  o'er  the  rising  swells, 

And  we  see  the  lighthouse  gleam; 
We  skirt  the  caves  where  the  foam  maids  dwell, 
And  the  idle  mermen  dream. 

For  wealth  and  names  we  care  not, 
A  monarch's  crown  we'd  wear  not, 
We  count  ourselves  as  free. 

O'er  reef  and  woe,  with  never  a  blow, 

In  howling  wind  and  weather, 
'Neath  tropic  vine,  through  frigid  snow, 
Our  hearts  beat  one  together. 
On  land  they  count  to-morrow, 
Its  pleasure  and  its  sorrow, 
We  count  and  live  to-day. 


H**.  M> 

•^    .'.*  ^ 


^^iSfi^jfo^ 

.  .    ^>      ^E^5&O^"l^^i^_J^'    TiT~*    .*- 


IN  DEL  GADDO  PLACE 

BY  EDITH    KESSLER 

ILLUSTRATED  BY  CLYDE  COOKE 


WAS  a  narrow,  ir- 
regular, cobble-paved 
street.  No,  it  did  not 
attain  the  dignity  of  a 
street,  for  "no  thor- 
oughfare" was  pro- 
claimed by  a  squalid 
rookery  set  squarely 
across  its  width.  It  was  steep  with  the 
grass-grown  steepness  of  some  San  Fran- 
cisco streets,  and  obscure  in  that  it  was 
not  exactly  down  town,  and  still  not  out 
of  its  reaching  clutches.  Jutting  flags 
and  treacherous  cobbles  marked  its  for- 
bidding way;  a  shrinking,  tortuous  way, 
that  yet  had  no  shame  in  the  flaunting 
dinginess  and  squalor  of  its  unpainted, 
weather-beaten  houses;  climbing,  scram- 
bling one  above  another  rudely  shoving 
those  below,  leaning  upon  those  above. 

Del  Gaddo  Place  is  a  habitat  of  Italians, 
not  of  the  very  poorest  variety.  These 
dwellers  rather  scorn  the  common  day- 
laborer.  They  are  artisans  of  various 
sorts,  skilled  workers  or  helpers;  makers 
of  images,  proprietors  of  small  shops; 
flower-vendors,  and  all  are  musicians  by 
right  of  birth.  For  more  than  a  few  it  is 
a  profession,  and  among  these  was  Carlo. 
Carlo  was  a  boy  of  sixteen,  sullen  and 
stooped  with  weary  years  of  enforced  prac- 
tice. The  hours  upon  hours  he  had  stood, 
dully,  endlessly  reiterating  difficult  pas- 
sages, while  without  his  comrades  shouted 
and  played,  these  were  things  he  remem- 
bered, and  would  not  think  of.  For  his 
father  was  a  musician,  a  composer,  and  it 
was  his  vow  his  son  should  be  a  great 


man — a    maestro    of    the   violin.      Ther 
were  rankling  memories  of  a  former  time 
in  another  land  that  bit  into  his  present 
poverty  as  a  corroding  acid.    His  son 
to  be  his  salvation,  the  magic  hand  which 
was  to  make  bright  a  distant,  long-intend- 
ed future.     This  little  unctuous  oily  max 
cared  nothing  for  his   daughters.     "Let 
them  go/'  he  said.     And  they  were  gc 
ing. 

Lotta,  handsome  and  twenty,  was  mak- 
ing the  parental  roof  one  of  her  transient 
visits.  She  and  Carlo  were  alone  in  the 
room.  The  old  man  had  gone  out  on  hei 
entrance.  He  was  always  uncomfortable 
when  with  her,  and  she  frankly  loath oc 
him. 

"Carlo,  why  don't  you  cut  the  whole 
thing  and  get  out?"  She  was  American- 
born,  and  her  accent  was  scarcely  notice 
able.  The  morning  was  warm  and  bright, 
with  the  hazy,  heavy  brightness  of  a  Sai 
Francisco  clear  day.  She  sat  by  the  opei 
window,-  and  leaned  her  chin  moodily  upoi 
her  upturned  palm.  Her  clear  olive  fac 
was  hard,  the  eyes  veiled  in  a  smoldering 
resentment.  Lines  were  already  about 
them,  and  unnecessary  traces  of  paint 
showed  garishly  in  the  morning  light.  Ths 
two  were  very  plainly  brother  and  sister, 
but  in  the  boy's  big  black  eyes  were  added 
an  acute  sensitiveness  that  had  utterly 
disappeared  from  his  sister's. 

"If  I  left  him,  I'd  smash  the  violin  into 
a  thousand  pieces.  It's  fierce — it's  a  night- 
mare. You  do  not  know." 

She  laughed  derisively. 

"Don't  know !    Smash  it ;  smash  it  over 


DEL  GAD  DO  PLACE. 


171 


his  head.  Come  to  me.  I've  got  some 
good  friends.  They'll  get  you  something 
to  do,  for  me." 

"How  do  yon  like  the  place  where  you. 
are  working  now?"  He  looked  up  with 
a  fond  affection. 

"On,  all  right,"  she  answered  hastily. 
"And,  Pippa,  could  you  take  her  till  I 
got  started?  1  can't  leave  her  here.  She 
is  the  plague  of  the  block  now  when  I  am 
practicing."  A  worried  frown  gathered 
over  his  eyes. 

"Oh,  no !"  she     ejaculated     hurriedly. 
"Pippa'd  have  to     stay     here.     There — 
wouldn't  be  any  place  for  her." 
He  sighed. 

"Well,  I  can't  go  yet,  then.  Besides, 
this  is  the  only  thing  I  can  earn  money 
with  now,  and  he  gets  all  he  can  squeeze 
out  of  me.  Beppo  don't  tell  him  all  he 

gives  me.     If  he  should " 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
'•'You're  a  big  boy  now.    You  can  take 
care  of  yourself." 

"Yes."  He  glanced  over  his  shoulder. 
"But  Pippa— 

"Does  he  do  that,  then?"  She  scowled, 
and  an  ugly  temper  showed  in  her  eyes. 
"Well,  if  he  does  again,  you  let  me  know. 

I'll Poor  Pippa !"    Her  wrath  went 

out  in  a  sudden  dejection.  She  shook  her 
shoulders  as  if  to  shake  off  all  unpleasant- 
ness. "Well,  you'll  come  to  it.  I'll  see 
what  I  can  do."  She  rose  and  bent  over 
him.  kissing  his  forehead.  The  eyes  of 
both  were  wet.  She  readjusted  the  fur 
about  her  neck,  straightened  her  white 
chiffon  hat,  and  crossed  the  room  with  a 
rustle  of  silken  skirts  whose  frayed  edges 
were  soiled  with  much  contact  with  tke 
street. 

On  her  way  out  she  passed  Pippa  swing- 
ing on  the  sagging  gate.  The  slender,  elf- 
like  child  looked  up  with  awe  and  stretched 
one  thin  hand  timidly  toward  the  rustling 
finery.  The  older  girl  stopped. 

"Want  to  smooth  the  kitty,  honey?  See 
the  pretty,  long  fur."  The  little  hand 
buried  itself  in  the  soft  mass. 

"It'.?  nice,"  she  ventured,  gravely.  Lotta 
laid  i  hand  caressingly  on  either  cheek, 
and  turned  the  little  face  up  to  hers.  She 
said  earnestly: 

"You  must  be  good,  very  good,  Pippa, 
and  do  exactly  as  Carlo  tells  you,  always; 
and  some  day  I'll  bring  you  a  kitty  like 
t'hi>.  all  for  you11  own." 


"Yes,  1  will,"  she  answered  solemnly. 
"I  won't  tear  Carlo's  music,  or  scare  old 
Rossi's  monkey,  or  make  his  parrot  squawk 
or  push  little  Pietro  into  the  gutter  when 
it  rains,  'cause  he's  a  cry-baby  or  anything 
again — ever !" 

Lotta  laughed  and  sighed  again,  pick- 
ing her  way  down  the  precipitous  street, 
and  the  child's  eyes  followed  her  with  a 
look  of  holy  ecstasy.  A  vision,  a  dream 
transcending  the  possible,  had  stooped  to 
her. 

That  same  afternoon,  old  Garcia  entered 
the  room  where  his  son  was  practicing. 
There  was  a  peculiar  narrowed  look  about 
his  eyes,  and  he  smiled  softly  as  he  rubbed 
his  hands  tentatively  together.  He  was 
quite  a  little  man,  and  he  moved  noiseless- 
ly, his  heavy  fat  chin  thrust  rather  up- 
ward, his  gray  brows  always  slightly  lifted 
as  though  to  clear  his  eyesight.  An  un- 
pleasant person  at  best,  this  afternoon 
even  accustomed  Carlo  shrank  inwardly 
at  the  almost  caressing  tone  of  his  smooth, 
purring  Italian.  He  sat  down  quite  close 
to  the  rickety  music  stand  before  which 
Carlo  stood,  and  for  a  moment  drew 
thoughtful  marks  in  the  dust  of  the  win- 
dow sill  with  his  finger.  Suddenly  he 
looked  up. 

"Your  sister,  the  little  Pippa — where  .'s 
she?" 

This,  although  both  could  hear  her 
crooning  over  house-wifely  mud  pies  in 
the  little  yard  outside.  Carlo  shrugged 
his  shoiilders  and  said  nothing.  The  voice 
flowed  on,  smooth,  hideously  pleasant. 

"She  is  becoming  a  torment  to  all  Del 
Gaddo  Place,  is  it  not  so?  Certain  com- 
plaint? from  Signora  Mata  have  grieved 
me." 

A  picture  of  fat,  dull  Signora  Mata 
came  before  Carlo.  She  was  a  great  friend 
of  his  father's,  and  none  of  his.  He  grew 
perplexed  and  apprehensive. 

"Ah,  yes,  my  Carlo,  another  little 
thing.  I  had  almost  forgotten.  The 
wages  the  good  Beppo  gives  you,  far  be- 
yond your  deserts,  but  a  help  to  our  pres- 
ent needs.  So  you  bring  them  all  home 
always — my  Carlo?" 

Now  Carlo  knew.  His  face  grew  sul- 
len and  stolid.  His  quick  fingers  ran  in- 
terminably up  and  down  liquidly  flowing 
scales.  His  shoulder  was  toward  his 
father. 

"Silent  one,"  the  voice  grew  plaintive, 


172 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


"is  it  not  unjust  to  me  who  loves  you,  to 
deceive  so  one  who  is  to  make  you  great — 
and  happy,  as  I  shall.''  He  paused  and 
smiled  softly  again.  "Carlo,  Beppo  is  a 
good  friend,  but  over  the  red  wine  many 
things  come  forth.  It  is  many  dollars, 
you  foolish  and  spendthrift  boy,  you  have 
with-held.  And  Pippa  eats  so  much — 
Pippa  who  is  also  so  ungrateful;  and 
whom  it  grieves  me  so  to  punish." 

Monotonous  arpeggios  accompanied  this 
monologue,  nor  ceased  at  its  ending.  The 
nervous  fingers  flew,  for  it  was  this  oc- 
cupation kept  them  from  things  more  to 
be  regretted. 

"It  was  much  money  for  so  young  a 
boy,   my   son.      Some   is   perhaps    spent. 
If  but  twenty-five  dollars  remain,  we  will 
forget  the  mistake.     It  was  wrong  to  me, 
but  I  am  a  good  father,  not  brutal  as  some 
are,  and  1  will  forgive.     Also,  I  will  col- 
lect the  wage  from  Beppo  now." 
Carlo  half  turned. 
"Beppo  lied.    I  have  no  money." 
"Yes  ?    Ah,  Carlo,  believe  me,  it  is  wise 
to  have  the  money.     Pippa  is  such  a  bad 
child!     I  cannot  have  so  much  trouble." 
He  had  risen,  and  laid  one  hand  on  Carlo's 
arm. 

"It  was  a  lie.  Of  course  you  don't  be- 
lieve. I  cannot  help  it."  The  boy 
shrugged  his  shoulders  again,  turning 
away  and  bending  his  drooping  head  over 
the  notes,  that  his  father  might  not  see 
his  eyes. 

"It  is  a  pity  not  to  remember  you  have 
the  money.  And  Pippa  also  such  a  bad 
child,  who  grieves  me  so  that  I  must  pun- 
ish her." 

He  crossed  the  room  with  a  shuffling 
tread,  pausing  at  the  door. 

"You  perhaps  may  remember — now?" 
A  stubborn  silence  filled  the  room.  He 
sighed  as  he  turned  away.  "And  Pippa 
such  a  bad  child,  too !" 

Carlo  heard,  with  set  teeth,  the  slam  of 
the  outside  door,  the  sudden  ceasing  of 
Pinna's  crooning  song,  the  bewildered  pro- 
test, the  angry,  frightened  cries  as  th-i 
two  came  down  the  empty  ringing  hall, 
a  steady  shuffling  tread,  and  scrambling, 
dragging  footfalls. 

He  ground  his  teeth,  and  played  high, 
fierce  airs  to  drown  the  dismal  wails.  Ami 
long  after  these  had  sobbed  themselves  to 
a  final  silence,  he  played,  white  faced  and 
tense,  for  he  knew  his  father,  and  he  was 


facing  a  new  future.  He  did  not  hear  the 
sounds  he  brought  forth.  It  was  a  me- 
chanical performance,  the  visible  sign  to 
his  father  that  he  did  not  care.  An  iota 
of  relenting,  one  quailing  move,  would  re- 
double his  malignance,  and  put  both  him- 
self and  Pippa  in  much  worse  case.  For 
both  of  them  it  was  to  be  gone  through 
with,  and  he  emerged,  old,  bitter,  pur- 
poseful. Something  had  been  killed  in 
him,  and  something  born.  The  last  of  the 
boy  had  gone;  the  boy  with  a  sense  of 
duty,  with  a  latent  desire  for  affection. 
The  germ  of  the  man  who  hunts  and  ">B 
hunted,  the  man  in  the  thick  of  the  strug- 
gle for  existence,  had  been  implanted.  His 
father  was  no  longer  a  father,  one  of 
the  family  clan ;  he  was  one  of  the  enemy ; 
one  of  the  hounding,  harassing,  threaten- 
ing powers,  to  be  thwarted,  circumvented, 
taken  by  the  throat. 

Pippa  was  very  happy.  With  the  buoy- 
ancv  of  childhood,  she  was  living  in  the 
jov  of  the  present  moment.  The  prospect 
of  a  rare  treat  was  before  her.  She  was 
going  down  town  with  Carlo. 

She  skipped  by  his  side  down  the  steep 
streets,  her  long  black  eyes  dancing,  her 
two  little  braids  bobbing  up  and  down 
with  her  ecstasy.  It  was  difficult  for  her 
to  keep  with  Carlo's  sober  trudge,  and  her 
continuous  conversation  bristled  with  ex- 
clamation points. 

The  slow  grey  twilight  was  fading  into 
the  many-lighted  dark.  Electric  signs, 
red,  yellow  and  white,  flared  across  the 
sidewalk  below  them;  scattering  windows 
hung  brilliant  squares  in  the  dimness 
above.  Dark  figures  hurried  or  slouched 
in  and  out,  back  and  forth  through  the 
halos  of  shop  windows.  Pippa  clutched 
her  brother's  hand  ecstatically,  as  they 
passed  open  shops,  from  which  issued  the 
much-tried  voice  of  a  phonograph  min- 
gling with  the  stentorian  tones  of  an  at- 
tendant hawker.  Her  eyes  opened  wide 
at  the  fragrant  florists'  windows,  and  grew 
round  as  they  passed  gorgeous  bare-headed 
Chinawomen. 

They  turned  down  many  streets,  they 
skirted  Chinatown;  in  a  district  where 
the  men  were  mostly  dark  and  foreign- 
looking,  they  paused.  In  this  quarter  the 
streets  were  illy-lit  and  furtive,  and  their 
dinginess  is  hidden  by  obscuring  shadows. 
Their  population  was  scattering,  and 


THE    MAN    FELL    WITHOUT    A    GROAN. 


174 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


empty  vistas  yawned  between  blank  frown- 
ing walls,  whose  dull  spaces  were  lit  by 
occasional  gleaming  slits,  which  only  ac- 
centuate the  forbidding  aspect.  It  was  all 
in  striking  contrast  to  the  busy  thorough- 
fares and  teeming  Chinese  quarter  from 
which  they  had  just  emerged,  and  Pippa 
was  glad  when  they  Caused  before  the 
streaming  lights  of  the  low,  red-curtained 
windows,  and  descended  the  shallow  flight 
of  stone  steps  that  marked  the  entrance. 

Here  was  life  in  plenty;  a  garrulous 
cigarette  smoking,  gesticulating  life.  The 
upper  air  under  the  low  brown  rafters  was 
hazy  with  floating  blue  vapor,  the  saw- 
dust sprinkled  floor  bore  imprint  of  many 
passing  feet.  About  the  oil-cloth  covered 
tables  it  was  trampled  and  shoved  into 
billowy  heaps,  and  stained  with  the  lees 
of  wine.  Deft,  white-aproned  waiters 
passed  about,  and  from  group  to  group 
sauntered  a  taciturn  man,  slender  in  build, 
and  rather  taller  than  his  fellows.  On 
occasions,  as  he  paused,  a  slow  smile 
would  lift  his  pointed  mustaches.  As  he 
caught  sight  of  Carlo  making  his  way 
across  the  room  this  smile  faded,  and  a 
conscious,  almost  shame-faced  expression 
took  its  place.  He  started  vaguely  toward 
the  boy,  then  leaning  back  against  a  pil- 
lar, he  folded  his  arms  and  waited. 

He  had  not  to  wait  long.  Carlo  deposit- 
ed his  violin  box  upon  the  floor  of  the 
raised  stand,  which  was  his  nightly  post. 
Then  he  lifted  the  half-timid,  half-smiling 
Pippa  to  the  wooden  chair  upon  it,  and 
turning,  came  straight  down  to  the  man. 

"Beppo,  after  to-night  I  quit." 

The  man  started. 

"Quit !    Oh,  come  now " 

"I  quit !" 

He  turned  on  his  heel,  and  the  man 
watched  him  as  he  carefully  tuned  his  in- 
strument, rubbed  a  lump  of  resin  the 
length  of  his  bow,  and  swung  abruptly  into 
a  popular  waltz.  The  man  whistled  softly 
between  his  teeth,  and  his  eyes  grew 
speculative. 

Pippa  pulled  at  Carlo's  coat,  and  as  he 
turned,  pointed  to  the  door  with  a  bright- 
eyed  anticipation.  Two  girls  and  a  man 
were  just  coming  in.  One  girl  was  a  little 
in  advance  of  her  companions,  standing 
straight  and  handsome,  as  she  swept  the 
room  with  a  brilliant  roving  glance.  The 
magnetism  of  her  full-blooded  personality 
drew  the  eyes  of  the  occupants  to  her, 


and  among  them  the  man  leaning:  again* 
the  pillar.     She  evidently  saw  what  si 
sought,  and  more,  for  a  half-startled  loc 
came  into  her  eyes,  as  they  dropped  froi 
Carlo's  to  the  bright,  eager  little  orbs 
side  him.     She  turned  to  the  other  gii 
an  admirable  foil  of  over-dressed  insignifi- 
cance, and  after  a  whispered  word  and  a 
nod  they  made  their  way  to  a  table  near 
the  musician.    Before  seating  herself,  the 
girl  walked  over  to  Carlo,  saying  in  a  low 
voice : 

"So  you've  done  it?" 

He  nodded,  and  in  his  eyes  was  an  odd 
reflection  of  the  timid  eagerness  in  Pip- 
pa's  by  his  side. 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  do  the  best  I  can. 
I  don't  know,  though."  Her  tone  was 
dubious,  and  her  worried  face  a  contrast 
to  the  gay,  ultra-mode  of  her  attire  aud 
artificially  radiant  cheeks.  It  changed 
quickly,  and  its  hardened  vivacity  came 
back  like  a  mask. 

"We'll  pull  it  otf  together,  though.  It's 
up  to  me  now." 

She  went  slowly  back  to  the  table,  and 
as  she  was  seating  herself  her  heavy  eyes 
met  the  interested  ones  of  the  man  by 
the  pillar.  A  smoldering  flash  lit  them 
for  a  moment  before  they  were  lowered. 

Her  friends  were  having  a  gay  time  over 
the  menu,  and  she  joined  them  with  zest. 
She  ignored  the  man  who  was  watching 
her.  The  feast  was  set  before  them, 
strange  concoctions  redolent  of  garlic, 
spaghetti,  ravioli,  anchovies,  and  a  couple 
of  bottles  of  vin  ordinaire  — "Dago  Red." 
The  man  left  the  pillar  and  sat  down  at 
a  vacant  table  near  by.  Two,  three  times 
the  girl  glanced  sidewise  at  him,  a  slow, 
lingering  oiance  over  the  red-brimming 
edge  of  her  glass.  The  man's  mustaches 
lifted  ever  so  slightly,  and  then  the  party 
became  four.  Waiters  were  obsequious, 
the  "Dago  Red"  was  changed  to  Chianti, 
laughter  flowed  with  the  wine,  and  eyes 
sparkled  with  both. 

But  a  good  time  alwavs  comes  to  an 
end.  Finally,  two  of  the  party  rose,  and 
with  many  adieus  the  party  became  two 
parties.  Lotta  and  the  man  called  Beppo, 
the  thrifty  proprietor  of  the  restaurant, 
'became  very  quiet.  They  talked  in  low 
tones  and  without  gestures.  His  eye- 
brows rose  as  she  talked,  and  he  was  seri- 
ous. 

"Yes,  I  can  do  it,"  he  said,  "but- 


IN  DEL  GADDO  PLACE. 


176 


He  smiled,  a  slow  smile  that  lifted  his 
mustache,  and  he  looked  at  her  across  the 
table. 

She  leaned  back  and   said  nothing. 

"Yes,  1  can  do  it,"  he  repeated,  delib- 
erately, "but "  This  time  he  did  not 

smile  as  he  looked  steadily  at  her. 

Then  she  awoke  in  a  torrent  of  low 
Italian.  Scorn  lighted  her  eyes.  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  Then  he  an- 
swered with  a  few  slow  words.  She 
broke  into  English. 

"Friend — there's  no  such  thing  as 
friend — in  this  world!"  She  threw  back 
her  head,  and  the  hardness  in  her  eyes 
was  painful.  "So  this  was  your  friend- 
ship, after  all." 

She  fell  silent,  and  her  eyes  rested  upon 
the  waiting,  dependent,  trusting  brother 
and  sister.  The  gloom  in  her  face  inten- 
sified.' The  man  also  was  silent.  She 
rose  slowly  from  the  table,  her  eyes  still 
upon  the  patient,  huddled  little  form  of 
lier  half-asleep  sister. 

"Well?"  said  the  man,  as  he  held  out 
Iris  hand.  Her  eyes  did  not  leave  the 
•child,  but  with  a  twisted  smile  she  laid 
her  hand  in  his.  Then  she  went  to  the 
little  group,  and  he  did  not  follow  her. 

"Come,  Pippa,  sister  will  take  care  of 
you  now." 


The  little  girl  scrambled  off  the  chair 
in  haste,  broad  awake  and  apprehensive 
on  the  instant. 

"Carlo,  it's  all  right  now — I  guess." 

She  nodded  to  him,  and  led  Pippa 
away,  abruptly. 

As  the  two  disappeared  through  the 
open  doorway,  the  voice  of  the  violin 
rose  in  a  joyous  burst  of  melody. 

Beppo  beamed  on  his  customers,  wan- 
dering from  one  table  to  another,  and 
as  the  hour  grew  late,  finally  settled  with 
some  cronies  at  a  side  table.  Wines  of 
yellow  and  red  flowed  freely,  and  as  Carlo 
— at  peace  with  the  world — approached 
to  settle  with  his  employer,  he  smiled  in 
sympathy  with  their  revelry.  He  stood 
just  behind  Beppo,  as  with  unsteady  hand 
the  man  lifted  his  glass.  The  thick  words 
of  his  toast  brought  a  quick,  checked 
hilariH  to  the,  lips  of  his  fellows.  In 
the  sudden  silence  the  blue-white  arc 
light  above  their  heads  sizzed  with  a  spas- 
modic splutter.  A  gleam  of  steel  flashed 
in  its  glare,  and  a  boy's  unsteady  voice 
broke  shrilly: 

"Devil  of  "a  liar!" 

The  man  fell  without  a  groan.  The 
boy  stood  back,  looking  down  at  him.  On 
the  floor,  a  red  widening  blot  that  was 
not  wine,  spread  into  the  sawdust. 


BY    ARTHUR    H.     BUTTON 


IGHT  at  our  doors,  it 
may  be  said,  is  a  re- 
gion, not  difficult  of 
access,  which  is  a 
paradise  to  artist  and 
athlete,  to  fisherman, 
sportsman,  tourist,  to 
every  lover  of  the 
beautiful  and  the  grand,  to  every  one  in- 
terested in  man  and  nature.  A  part, 
but  only  a  small  part,  of  this  region  is 
known,  and  this  small  part  is  fast  losing 
its  noveltv,  the  greater  and  more  attrac- 
tive part  being  as  yet  nearly  virgin  to  the 
sightseer  and  traveler  of  the  white  race. 
The  region  is  in  Southeastern  Alaska. 
This  general  region  has  been  much  writ- 
ten about,  but  principally  from  the  stand- 
point of  those  who  have  skimmed  over  the 
beaten  paths  of  the  Southeastern  Alaska 
travelers;  those  who  go  over  the  usual 
route,  which,  while  undoubtedly  one  o* 
the  most  attractive  anywhere,  is  surpassed 
by  neighboring  districts. 

It  was  my  good  fortune  to  spend  a 
summer  recently  as  an  officer  on  the  little 
steamer  Gedney,  belonging  to  the  United 
States  Coast  and  Geodetic  Survey,  which 
had  been  detailed  to  explore  and  survey 
Chatham  and  Sumner  straits,  Christian 
sound  and  neighboring  waters  about 
Kuiu,  Baranoff  and  adjacent  islands. 
Here  I  saw  sights  and  had  experiences  and 
pleasures  that  I  little  anticipated.  We 
had  enioved  the  trip  up,  over  the  route 
ordinarily  followed  by  the  steamers  which 
make  the  so-called  inside  passage  to  Alas- 
kan ports,  but  we  did  not  meet  with  the 


gems  until  after  leaving  the  beaten  pat 

It  is  a  land  of  primeval  forest  and  me- 
dieval man.  Here  the  degenerate  Siwash 
is  not  so  far  civilized  as  to  be  the  hope- 
less individual  he  is  in  such  tourist-ridden 
places  as  Ketchikan,  Killisnoo,  Sitka,  Ju- 
neau  and  other  towns.  On  Kuiu  island 
he  still  has  some  relics  of  the  ancients  of 
his  race.  He  is  certainly  not  content  to 
while  away  his  life  in  idleness,  varied  only 
with  drunken  potlatches.  On  the  contrary, 
he  still  resents  the  coming  of  the  white 
man,  whom  he  will  slay  if  he  can  catch 
him  unawares  and  without  fear  of  ap- 
prehension. He  still  lives  on  fish  and 
game,  and  still  wears  many  garments  of 
ancient  design  and  manufacture.  The 
forests  are  as  grand  as  the  snow-capped, 
rugged  mountains  that  over-tower  them. 
One  may  walk,  or  rather  climb,  over  them 
for  hours,  their  silent  majesty  impressing 
one  with  the  grandeur  of  nature  when 
left  alone  by  man. 

The  most  striking  feature  of  this  beau- 
tiful region  is  the  closeness  with  which 
varieties  of  scenery  are  assembled.  First 
there  is  the  deep  strait,  on  either  side  of 
which  are  islands,  most  of  them  spined 
with  tall,  white-tipped  mountains.  The 
shores  are  indented  with  beautiful  bays 
and  coves,  whose  mere  existence  is  not 
suspected  until  their  entrances  are 
reached.  It  is  these  that  the  average  tour- 
ist misses.  It  was  our  duty  to  find  them 
and  tc  explore  and  survey  them.  We  en- 
tered many.  Some  are  wide,  dotted  with 
islets.  Others  a.'e  little  lagoons,  innocent 
of  ail  life  except  fish  and  game,  even  the 


THE  LAND  OF  AKT,  SPORT  AND  PLEASURE. 


[ndians  seldom  visiting  them.  In  the 
larger  ones  there  are  occasional  camps  of 
Indian  fishermen  and  hunters — during  an 
entire  summer  we  found  not  half  a  dozen 
traces  of  the  rare  white  prospectors  who 
have  visited  the  region. 

Streams  pour  into  these  bays  and  la- 
goons, deer  and  bear  wander  along  their 
shores,  the  latter  sweeping  up  fish  by 
the  handful.  We  entered  a  harbor  once 
—it  i<=  now  called  Patterson  bay — where 
we  saw  two  families  of  bear,  one  a  pair 
of  big  brown  bear,  the  other  two  parent 
black  bear,  with  three  cubs.  The  two 
groups  were  some  distance  apart,  and 
failed  to  discover  our  approach  until  we 
rounded  a  bend  and  saw  them,  the  sound 
of  our  boat  being  drowned  by  the  roar 
of  a  magnificent  cataract.  These  cata- 
racts are  among  the  most  beautiful  fea- 
tures of  the  place.  They  are  to  be  found 
everv  few  miles,  coming  from  mountain 
streams  of  more  or  less  size,  which  are 
but  the  overflows,  in  most  cases,  of  beau- 
tiful fresh-water  lakes,  which  are  plentiful 
in  the  higher  plateaus  and  valleys  farther 
inland. 

The  landscape  artist  can  find  ample 
field  for  his  art  in  this  wild  and  inspir- 
ing country.  Its  aspect,  both  general  and 
detailed,  impresses  even  the  prosaic  lay- 
man. The  poet  may  be  carried  away  in 
rapid  flights  in  its  contemplation.  As  a 
health  .resort,  the  islands  on  both  sides 
of  Chatham  and  Sumner  straits  and 
Christian  sound  are  magnificent.  A  sum- 
mer lodge  or  shooting  box,  built  of  the 
heavy,  enduring  timber  that  abounds,  it* 
masonry  of  the  varied  rocks  or  the  fine 
marble  which  may  be  found  in  profusion 
and  easily  quarried,  could  be  located  in 
few  places  so  beautiful.  Sheltered  from 
bad  weather,  surrounded  by  the  fairest 
prospect  in  good,  they  would  be  even  at- 
tractive winter  houses,  for  the  climate  of 
South-eastern  Alaska  is  no  more  rigorous 
than  that  of  Massachusetts  or  England. 
It  is  cooler  than  either  in  summer,  and 
no  colder  in  winter. 

The  harbors,  coves  and  bays  are  simply 
alive  with  fish  of  great  variety.  Cod,  sal- 
mon, halibut  and  many  other  food  fishes 
are  present  in  vast  numbers.  When  the 
Gedney  would  anchor  in  one  of  these 
lovely  harbors,  the  fish-lines  would  go 


overboard  as  soon  as  her  "mud-hook"  wa? 
down.  The  fish  would  fall  over  themselves 
getting  caught  and  hauled  aboard,  to  be 
eaten  at  our  next  meal.  In  the  streams 
and  the  interior  lakes  there  is  an  abund- 
ance of  gamey  trout. 

Bear,  deer,  plover,  grouse,  ptarmagar, 
ducks,  geese  and  swans  are  but  some  of 
the  game  animals  and  birds  to  be  fovnd 
with  little  difficulty.,  although  the  black 
bear  are  timid,  and  the  deer,  partly  owing 
to  the  Indians,  are  rather  warv.  and  pa- 
tience and  skill  must  be  practiced  to  get 
near  enough  for  a  shot,  except  in  some 
of  the  little  outside  islands,  such  as  Coro- 
nation Island,  where  they  have  not  been 
much  disturbed  by  any  one  and  may  be 
driven  and  cornered,  owing  to  the  steep 
hills  and  crags  characteristic  of  the 
island. 

I  can  imagine  no  better  way  for  heal- 
thy men  and  women,  lovers  of  the  grand 
and  of  the  beautiful,  fond  of  sport  and 
an  out-of-door  life,  to  sr>end  a  few  months 
— years,  I  should  personally  say — than 
to  make  headouarters  in  a  sturdily-built 
lodge  in  some  of  the  coves  and  bays 
which  line  the  islands  named,  and  thence 
to  sally  forth  on  trips  into  the  surround- 
ing neighborhood  after  game  and  sport 
and  exercise.  The  parties  should  go 
armed  at  all  times,  tor  there  are  not  only 
wild  animals  that  might,  in  a  pinch,  be 
uglv,  but  there  are  still  Indians  in  some 
places  who  do  not  look  kindly  upon  the 
white  man's  invasion.  But  they  are  ...10 
more  dangerous  than  the  perils  of  the 
mountains  and  the  plains  of.  other  more 
familiar  parts  of  the  country,  and  add 
the  spice  of  danger  which  makes  the  whole 
experience  more  enjoyable.  The  timid  may 
stay  nearer  their  base,  with  ready  refuge 
in  the  house,  for  the  animals  and  the 
Indians  never  approach  too  near  to  the 
white  man's  settlement. 

I  may  suggest  a  few  of  many  spots 
where  such  a  lodge  might  be  built  easily 
and  favorable.  Such  are  Tebenkof  bay, 
Patterson  bay,  Port  Malmesbury,  Port 
Conclusion,  Egg  Harbor,  Port  Armstrong. 
Gedney  Harbor  and  Port  MJcArthur.  Were 
more  known  about  these  wonderful  re- 
sorts, I  am  sure  that  they  would  not  long 
be  left  to  Indians,  a  few  surveyors  and  an 
occasional  nrospector. 


THE    REVENGE 

OF    THE  I 
BLUE    HORDE 

BY  CLARENCE  HAWKES 

ILLUSTRATED    BY    W.    R.    DAVENTPORT. 


HE  WARM  SOUTH 
wind  is  dancr  g  a  ""• 
down  the  aisles  oi  '•  •• 
forest.  He  has  b  .. 
so  long  exiled  from 
his  'beloved  fields  and 
woods  of  New.  Eng- 
land that  he  is  mak- 
ing up  for  all  he  has  lost  in  the  winter 
months  that  have  passed.  His  'boisterous 
cousin,  the  North  wind,  has  had  it  all 
his  own  way  too  long.  It  is  time  he  was 
taught  his  place,  so  the  South  wind  is 
pushing  him  rapidly  back  towards  the 
poles,  and  he  is  so  glad  that  his  hour  has 
come  again  that  he  whistles  a  merry  tune 
upon  his  pipe  as  he  goes. 

How  sweet  the  woods  are  now  he  has 
passed.  He  was  fresh  from  a  race 
through  the  orchard  and  had  filled  his 
wings  with  crab-apple  scent  and  scattered 
it  lavishly  through  the  woods.  The  wild 
azalia,  too,  he  has  gentlv  swayed  in  pass- 
ing1. He  has  brought  a  whiff  of  arbutus 
and  wild  cherry.,  and  the  pugent,  whole- 
some smell  of  balsam  and  pine  needles 
quickened  into  fragrance  by  the  warm 
May  sunlight. 

What  an  important  air  the  South  wind 
has  to-dav.  as  he  dances  through  the  for- 
est, blowing  lustily  upon  his  flageolet. 
You  would  really  think  he  owned  the 
whole  universe. 

What  a  thrill  of  life  is  stirring  to-day 
in  the  half-grown  leaves  and  the  bursting 
buds,  in  the  groping  fronds  and  the  ger- 
minating seeds. 

Now  the  South  wind  has  passed,  the 
forest  is  as  still  as  though  enchanted. 
Not  a  leaf  rustles,  not  a  breath  is  stirring. 
Hark,  what  is  that?  A  song  in  the  top  of 


a  spruce,  low-keyed  and  liquid.  A  won- 
derful love  dittv,  now  it  is  repeated  softer 
jre  exquisitely  than  before.  What 
oird  in  all  the  forest  sings  like  that?  It 
is  not  an  oriole  or  thrush,  but  quite  as 
sweet  as  either.  Then  a  bough  bends,  and 
a  wonderful  blue  coat  flashes  in  the  sun- 
light, and  the  most  strident,  querulous, 
rasping  voice  in  the  forest  cries:  "Jay, 
Jay,  Say,  Say.  Didn't  know  I  could  sing 
like  that,  did  you?  Well,  I  can  when  I 
am  a  mind  to,  but  I  won't  for  you.  Jay, 
Jay,  Jay!" 

He  flashes  out  of  the '  tree  and  across 
the  fields,  and  is  gone.  A  veritable  blue- 
coat,  but  altogether  a  noisy,  quarrelsome 
fellow,  the  spy  of  the  woods,  always 
squawking  and  calling  when  you  want 
listen,  and  many  times  drowning  t 
sweet  son^s  of  other  birds  with  his  hide- 
ous squawking.  A  gay  Barmen"'  "  ico^ 
all  show  and  bright  feathers,  but  at 
heart  a  saucy,  shallow  fellow. 

The  song  we  heard  this  morning  was 
the  jay's  spring  love  song.  His  one  musi- 
cal attempt,  that  only  his  mate  on  the 
nest  with  the  warm  eggs  under  her  can 
inspire.  You  did  not  suspect  him  of  such 
sentiment.  Neither  did  I  until  J  heard 
him  with  my  own  ears. 

But  when  you  stop  to  think  of  it,  that 
miracle  going  on  in  the  top  of  the  spruce 
is  enough  to  make  a  crow  or  any  living 
thing  that  has  warm  blood  in  its  veins 
sing. 

But  there  was  one  menace  that  May 
morning  to  the  feathered  folks  of  the 
woods.  It  was  a  silent,  stealthy,  gliding 
danger  that  was  always  with  them.  No 
matter  how  fresh  and  green  or  inviting  a 
grassy  plot  or  a  bunch  of  brakes  might 


THE  REVENGE  OF  THE  BLUE  HORDE. 


179 


look,  this  stealthy,  creeping  danger  might 
oe  coiled  in  the  sweet  green  depths. 

There  was  a  peculiar  enmity  between 
this  subtle  something  and  the  jay  family, 
for  the  jays  were  the  spies  of  the  woods. 
Many  a  bird's  plumage  had  been  saved 
bir  the  strident  squawl  of  the  jay.  When- 
ever any  of  these  gay-liveried,  saucy  spies 
saw  the  black  snake  creeping  upon  its 
prey,  or  lying  in  ambush  along  some 
favorite  path,  or  coiled  in  the  trees,  the 
jay  would  at  once  set  up  a  great  squawk- 
ing, and  alarm  the  whole  forest  for  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  about.  Then  birds  and 
squirrels  would  be  upon  their  guard,  and 
perhaps  the  black  evil  would  go  hungry, 
thanks  to  the  jay's  vigilance.  So  there 
was  a  particular  hatred  between  the  jay 
family  and  the  black  snake,  who  made  the 
i swamp  above  the  old  mill  pond  an 


meant  a  snake.  Then  a  slim  head,  blacker 
even  than  his  own,  was  lifted  high  above 
the  grass,  and  two  eyes  glittering  and  ter- 
rible, burnino-  with  hatred  and  glowing 
with  malice,  were  riveted  upon  the  water 
snake. 

But  what  cared  he — was  he  not  the  ter- 
ror of  the  mill  pond?  Who  was  this 
stranger  that  dared  to  invade  his  king- 
dom, defy  'him  and  even  appear  con- 
temptuous of  his  sway?  So  he  made  one 
or  two  extra  coils  in  his  long,  powerful 
form,  and  glared  back  at  his  enemy,  dart- 
ing out  his  tongue  with  lightning  rapidity 
and  returning  hate  for  hate  with  stead v. 
glowing  eyes. 

The  black   snake  lifted  his  head  still 

higher  above  the  grass  and  came  on,  cir- 

ol;  •"?  alout  his  rival  and  seeking  to  taice 

•   •   off  his  guard,  but  the  water  snaka 


. 

The  same  morning  that  the  black  snake 
left  his  headquarters  in  the  swamp  and 
went  on  a  journey,  a  huge,  dark  water 
snake  crawled  out  on  the  bank  and  took 
a  nap  in  the  warm  May  sunshine.  He 
was  larger  even  than  the  black  snake  of 
the  swamp,  and  this  morning  he  felt 
quite  contented  with  the  world  in  general 
and  his  own  lot  in  particular,  for  he  had 
dined  the  morning  before  upon  a  half- 
grown  musk-rat. 

Up,  up,  from  the  swale  the  black  snake 
came  creeping,  and  the  young  grass  wrig- 
gled at  his  coming,  while  the  terror  of 
the  mill  pond  slept  upon  the  muddy  bank. 
Finally  the  sleeping  water  snake  awoke, 
raised  his  head  and  looked  cautiously 
about.  Something  was  coming  his  wav. 
There  was  a  tremor  in  the  grass,  and  this 


ward  his  tail.  Then  with  a  lightning 
motion,  the  black  snake  wound  his  own 
tail  about  a  small  elm  that  stood  upon 
the  bank.  With  a  convulsive  contortion 
he  raised  his  own  uglv  form  in  the  air. 
and  with  it  that  of  the  water  snake.  Like 
a  long,  'black  rope  the  double  length  of 
snake  rose  and  fell,  beating  the  earth, 
but  the  third  time  the  black  rope  made 
a  srraceful  half-circle,  then  shot  forward 
with  a  lightning  motion.  With  a  report 
like  the  crack  of  a  whip,  the  head  of  the 
water  snake  rolled  into  the  pond,  while 
his  body  writhed  and  twisted  in  the  grass. 

Then  the  black  snake  unwound  his  coil 
from  the  water  elm  and  hatched  the 
dying  contortions  of  his  enemy. 

When  the  wriggling  of  the  water  snake 
had  ceased  and  it  was  apparent  that  Le 


180 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


was  quite  dead,  his  enemy  gloated  above 
him  and  swelled  with  pride  over  his  greit 
victory.  Then  he  swam  the  pond  and 
went  into  the  woods  beyond  in  search  of 
more  foes  to  conquer. 

It  happened  this  same  morning  that  a 
partly  fledged  jay  had  fallen  from  the 
nest.  He  was  r.ot  ready  to  fly,  and  his 
parents  were  in  a  great  dilemma.  The 
old  snake  heard  their  cries  afar  off,  and 
knew  quite  well  that  some  one  was  in 
trouble.  Trouble  for  the  birds  at  nesting 
time  usually  meant  plunder  for  him,  so 
he  hastened  in  the  direction  from  which 
the  squawking  and  cries  of  distress  came. 

~ 


and  still  another  and  another.  The  call 
was  answered  from  across  the  mill  pond, 
and  from  far  and  near  the  blue-coated 
rogues  came  flying,  calling  as  they  came, 
"Jay,  jay,  pay,  pay,  flay,  flay!" 

Tho  outraged  father  led  them  hurried- 
ly back  to  the  spot  where  the  deed  hadj 
been  committed,  and  where  the  grievinj 
mother   still   watched    the    greedy    snake* 
swallowing  her  fledgling.     One  would  noji 
have  imagined  there  was  as  many  jav.s 
within  ten  miles  as  soon  flocked  above  the 
snake,  all  squawking  with  rage  and 
Each  moment  the  cries  grew  louder,  aJofl 
soon  the  birds  began  darting  viciously  at 


The  poor  victim  squawked  once  or 
twice,  fluttered  feebly,  and  was  still;  the 
life  had  been  crushed  out  of  it  by  the 
destroyer. 

Both  of  the  jay  parents  darted  viciously 
at  the  snake,  but  he  paid  little  attention 
to  them,  and  began  leisurely  swallowing 
his  prize. 

Then  the  male  jay  rose  in  the  air  high 
above  the  tree  tops,  and  flew  rapidly  away, 
calling  at  the  top  of  his  strident  voice 
as  he  flew : 

"Jay,  jay,  pay,  pay,  flay,  flay !" 

Another  jay  in  a  distant  tree-top  took 
UD  the  cry  and  flung  it  far  on  into  the 
woods.  Soon  another  was  heard  calling 


•"••"^•5      '  *•"•*•  J     •* 

over  him  and  he  slunk  into  the  grass, 
feeling  actually  afraid  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life. 

As  long  as  he  faced  them  and  struck  at 
them,  whenever  they  came  too  near,  he 
had  been  comparatively  safe,  but  now 
he  had  turned  tail  and  was  fleeing,  it  was 
different. 

At  the  moment  he  showed  the  white 
feather,  the  whole  angry  horde  fell  upon 
him  like  furies.  A  half  dozen  darted 
down  at  once,  picking  at  as  many  places 
in  his  wriggling  black  coils.  He  turned 
and  struck,  and  his  motions  were  so 
quick  that  the  eye  could  hardly  follow 
him.  Two  wounded  jays  fluttered  down 


STAGE  OF  THE  WOODS. 


181 


into  the  underbrush,  but  what  cared  the 
rest.  The  horde  was  aroused  and  noth- 
ing but  blood  would  atone  for  the  mur- 
der that  the  snake  had  done. 

The  black  fury  could  not  strike  in  a 
dozen  places  at  once,  and  some  of  them 
were  sure  to  wound  him.  Soon  his  skin 
had  been  broken  in  many  places,  and  he 
was  covered  with  blood,  but  none  of  his 
great  strength  was  gone.  A  half  dozen 
beaks  tore  at  his  tail,  and  he  turned, 
writhino-  with  pain,  to  strike  at  these  tor- 
mentors. At  the  same  instant,  a  jay 
struck  him  fairly  in  the  right  eye,  and 
that  organ  lay  out  on  his  cheek  and  was 
useless.  This  was  the  beginning  of  the 


end,  but  his  end  was  terrible,  as  was  his 
desert.  Never  punishment  fell  from 
heaven  upon  the  guilty  more  swiftly  or 
surely.  In  a  few  seconds  more  his  other 
eye  was  gone,  and  he  could  only  strike 
blindly  and  thrash  and  writhe  in  convul- 
sions of  pain.  Slowly  and  relentlessly 
tlhey  picked  and  tore  at  the  writhing 
mass.  In  five  minutes  after  the  battle  be- 
gan, the  snake's  skin  was  stripped  to  rib- 
bons, his  entrails  dragged  upon  the 
ground,  and  he  was  so  torn  and  pecked 
that  his  own  mate  would  not  have  known 
him.  Thus  was  justice  meted  out,  and 
the  black  destroyer  went  the  way  that  he 
had  sent  so  many  helpless  fledglings. 


STAGE    OF    THE    WOODS 


LOUISE    AYKES    GAKNTETT 


I  SIT  unnoticed  in  a  woodland  spot 
And  touch  my  golden  lyre. 
Its  notes  are  plaintive  with  a  world  of  sighs, 

Or  bright  with  rhythmic  fire; 
I  sing  a  song,  a  happy  winged  song, 
That  echoes  my  desire. 

Ah,  what  a  perfect  stage !  no  ears  to  hear 

My  voice  lament,  or  troll, 
Save  those  most  friendly  critics  of  the  woods — 

The  blossoms  on  the  knoll, 
The  trees,  the  purling  stream,  the  flying  birds, 

And  my  attentive  soul. 


A    TRIP    TO    CUERNAVACA 

BY    MARY    E.    S^YDEB 

ILLUSTRATED     WITH     PHOTOGRAPHS. 


Mexico  City,  March,  1907. 

Y     DEAE     FLO:      In 

this  I  am  going  to 
tell  you  of  my  trip  to 
Cnernavaca,  consid- 
ered here  one  of  the 
most  intere  sting 
places  in  this  part  of 
the  Eepublic. 
We  rise  early  and  are  away  before  the 
business  of  the  day  begins.  Half  circling 
Mexico  City,  we  view  historical  Chapul- 
tepec  Castle,  the  summer  home  of  Presi- 
dent Diaz,  from  three  sides,  pass  several 
of  the  quaint  suburban  towns,  then  tra- 
verse miles  of  maguey  plantations.  Let 
me  explain  here  that  the  maguey,  a  mem- 
ber of  the  agava  family,  closely  resembles 
the  century  plant,  and  the  juice  extracted 
from  it  is  the  pulque,  an  intoxicant  drunk 
by  men,  women  and  children  of  the  lower 
classes,  much  to  their  detriment. 

The  morning,  like  nearly  all  here,  is 
perfect,  and  soon  spread  before  us  in  the 
.bright  sunshine  is  a  panorama  of  the 
whole  Mexican  basin,  near  the  center  of 
which  the  spires  of  the  metropolis  glisten, 
and  forming  a  background  for  the  spark- 
ling waters  of  Lake  Texcoco,  are  the  snow 
crested  "Popo"  and  "The  White  Woman," 
as  the  qrand  old  peaks  of  Popocatepetl 
and  Ixtaccihautl  are  commonly  called, 
standing  guard,  as  it  were,  over  the  coun- 
try for  miles  in  every  direction.  A  little 
later  only  a  great  bank  of  fleecy  clouds 
marks  the  location  of  these  mountains. 

ITp.  up  we  toil  until  Cima  (summit), 
10,000  feet  above  sea  level,  is  reached.  As 
our  starting  point  is  considerably  more 
than  a  mile  up  in  the  air  (a  little  less 
than  7,500  feet  above  sea  level)  slightly 
more  difficult  respiration  is  the  only  effect 
we  feel  from  our  elevated  position. 

We  make  short  stops  at  Julia,  Olivar, 
Toro  (bull),  Tres  Maria  (three  Marys), 
and  other  places  bearing  such  euphonious 
appellations,  which  usually  consist  of  a 


box  car  for  a  depot  and  a  few  straw  01 
adobe  huts,  as  residences.  The  whole 
population  is  at  the  train,  one  or  more 
heavily  armed  Rurales  (country  police) 
pacing  up  and  down,  the  Indian  women 
with  offerings  of  fruit,  ensalades  (a  mix- 
ture of  chopped  vegetables,  chile  always 
being  one  of  the  important  ingredients, 
wrapped  in  tortillas,  turn-over  style)  and 
other  edibles,  with  "pulque,"  served  in 
little  brown  pottery  pitchers,  to  drink. 
These  venders  are  well  patronized  by  the 
"Segunda  Clase"  passengers,  as  the  Mexi- 
can seems  always  hungry,  at  least  he 
never  loses  an  opportunity  ~  to  eat.  Many 
of  these  articles  of  food  have  an  appetiz- 
ing appearance,  but  the  women  offering 
them  are  so  disgustingly  dirty  that  for- 
eigners have  little  inclination  to  buy  any- 
thing except  fruit.  At  one  station  we  se- 
cure some  of  the  most  delicious  strawber- 
ries I  have  ever  eaten. 

Leaving  Cima,  we  begin  the  descent, 
and  drop  down  something  like  five  thou- 
sand feet  in  twenty-five  miles.  We  look 
down  upon  the  clouds,  then  pass  through 
them,  and  the  view  for  most  of  the  dis- 
tance is  very  pretty.  Away  below  us  in 
the  valley  we  see  Cuernavaca,  first  on  one 
side  of  the  train,  then  on  the  other,  as  we 
gradually  approach  over  our  tortuous 
route. 

At  the  station  there  is  a  scramble  to  se- 
cure one  of  the  antiquated  looking  "o 
ches,"  which  convey  those  who  do  not 
care  to  patronize  the  mule  trams  to  the 
town. 

I  have  heard  much  of  the  beauties  of 
this  old  Mexican  town,  but  this  is  one 
rare  instance  where  reality  surpasses  an- 
ticipation. All  is  so  quiet,  peaceful, 
primitive  and  quaint,  as  we  pass  through 
narrow,  crooked  streets,  with  low,  tilod 
roofed,  adobe  buildings  on  either  side,  the 
colorings,  which  were  no  doubt  harsh 
when  new,  having  been  reduced  by  time  to 
such  delicate  blues,  greens,  creams  and 
terra-cottas,  all  blending  to  produce  a 


THE  TRIP  TO  CUERNAVACA. 


183 


Lost  mellow,  harmonious  effect.  The  set- 
jiiiu  seems  so  appropriate  for  the  moving 
Igurcs — the  men  with  the  usual  white  cot- 
lo'n  suit,  sandaled  or  bare  feet,  and  im- 
laense  sombrero,  eniding'  a  train  of  cli- 
ininutive  burros,  which  are  nearly  hidden 
leneath  great  panniers,  bales  of  hay,  sacks 
If  charcoal,  etc.,  or  themselves  balancing 
|eavy  loads  on  their  heads;  the  women, 
jometimes  in  the  cheap  cotton  skirt,  some- 
jlimes  in  the  more  picturesque  hand-made 
}rool  ones,  consisting  of  one  long  strip 
If  cloth  drawn  straight  across  the  back, 
lath  deep  plaits  laid  in  the  front,  and  the 
Iver  present  rebosa,  which  serves  not  only 
Is  a  head  and  shoulder  wrap,  but  also  for 
tarrying  the  baby  or  great  bundles  of 
Merchandise,  often  both  together.  The 
|eon  women  may  not  be  the  bread  winners, 
lut  they  certainly  contribute  their  share 
loward  the  family  supply  of  tortillas. 
I  After  much  jolting  over  the  cobble- 
i|>aved  streets,  wielding  of  whip  and  utter- 
Ing  of  the  peculiar  whistle  employed  by 
native  drivers,  my  sombreroed  "cocherov 
fleposits  me  at  the  hotel,  where  new  sur- 
prises await  me.  Following  a  broad  cor- 
ridor, I  find  myself  in  one  of  the  most 
ipeautiful  patios  I  have  ever  seen,  and  that 
s  saying  much — there  are  so  many  beau- 
ftiful  ones  in  Mexico.  Properly  speaking. 
Ihe  corridor  separates  two  patios,  a  foun- 
lain  almost  hidden  by  flowers  and  foliage 
relaying  in  each,  diffusing  myriads  of  dia- 
monds in  the  sunshine.  A  part  of  the 
Building  was  commenced  in  the  time  of 
Cortes  (about  1535),  and  happily  the  an- 
itique  feature?  have  been  preserved.  The 
treat  hand-hewn  timbers  and  massive 
masonry  show  few  evidences  of  the  spoils 
Ipf  time.  Flowers  are  everywhere,  set  in 
inuaint  Mexican  pots  (jardiniers  sounds 
altogether  too  modern),  and  an  old  stone 
image,  a  relic  of  pre-historic  times,  occu- 
pies a  position  near  the  entrance.  From 
jthe  roof  garden,  where  are  also  plants  in 

. 

Hi.   A    PORTION   OF   THE   OLD   BUILDINGS   ON 
THE   CORTES   HACIENDA. 

>B.   MAGUEY     PLANT,     FROM     WHICH     PUL- 
QUE IS  OBTAINED. 

3.  FRANCISCAN  CHURCH,,  SEVERAL  CEN- 
TURIES OLD,  IN  THE  SAME  ENCLOSURE 
WITH  CORTES  CATHEDRAL.  A  NUM- 
BER OF  TOMBS  EITHER  SIDE  OF  EN- 
TRANCE. 


184 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


great  profusion,   a  fine  view  of  the  citj 
and  surrounding  country  may  be  had. 

But,  attractive  as  this  hotel  is,  I  mus 
not  neglect  other  places  of  interest. 

After  lunch  we  ordered  horses,  and  ac 
companied  by  an  ex-member  of  the  Lon 
don  Guards  (I  only  quote  his  word  fo 
this,  for  his  riding  gave  no  evidence  of  th 
fact),  we  set  forth.  The  Falls  of  » 
Anton  hardly  seem  worth  the  climbing 
necessary  to  get  a  view  of  them,  so  wi 
ride  on,  between  rows  of  fruit  laden  trees 
with  here  and  there  the  red  coffee  berrie 
showing  among  the  green  to  the  potteries 
The  pottery  made  here  is  among  the  pret 
tiest  in  Mexico,  but  unfortunately  for  m 
little  of  the  \vork  is  done  during  the  raiD] 
season,  and  we  did  not  see  its  manufac- 
ture. However,  we  see  evidences  of  i: 
about  the  little  nuebla,  composed  of  adotx 
huts  set  picturesquely  among  the  trees 
and  we  find  many  pretty  pieces  for  sale 
in  the  town. 

The  next  visit  is  to  the  "Victory  Stone/' 
a  huge  boulder  with  a  flag  design  carved 
on  one  of  its  faces.  I  have  been  unable 
to  learn  anything  definite  about  this,  bul 
it  is  supposed  to  be  commemorative  of 
some  long  passed  battle. 

In  the  evening,  resting  in  the  great  easy 
chairs,  with  the  electric  stars  gleaming  out 
from  among  the  foliage,  we  are  regaled 
with  good  instrumental  and  vocal  music 
by  a  native  orchestra,  and  I  feel  tha 
am  in  a  happy  dream,  my  only  care  be: 
the  fear  of  waking. 

In  the  morning  we  mount  again 
start  out  through  the  narrow,  serpenti 
streets  toward  Atlaltemulco,  a  sugar  ha 
enda  founded  by  Cortes,  and  still  owned 
by  his  descendents.     Sugar     was  ^ 

manufactured  here  about  a  hundred  years 
before  the  Pilgrims  landed  at  Plymouth, 
and  the  same  crude  methods  are  employed 
to-day.  The  old  buildings,  forming  a 
hollow  square  about  a  patio,  look  as  though 
they  might  serve  their  present  purpose 
for  a  thousand  vears  to  come. 

4.  A    PART    OP    THE    WALL    SURROUNDING 

THE    CORTES      CATHEDRAL,      SHOWING 
SEVERAL    TOMBS. 

5.  A    STREET    IN     CUEBNAVACA,     SHOWING 

THE     CORTES      PALACE      ACROSS      THE 
END. 

(5.    A   MEXICAN  PATIO. 


THE  TEIP  TO  CUEKNAVACA. 


185 


To  reach  this  hacienda,  we  pass  over 
the  remains  of  one  of  the  old  stone  paved 
roads,,  hundreds  of  miles  of  which  were 
built  during  the  Cortes  regime,  now  prac- 
tically impassable  for  any  style  of  vehi- 
[le.  It  is  to  be  hoped  they  were  kept  in 
Letter  repair  in  those  early  days,  other- 
vise  El  Sr.  Don  Cortes  must  have  suf- 
fered some  severe  joltings. 

"Returning,  we  make  a  detour  through 
pore  of  the  beautiful  fruit-lined  lanes  to 
kcapacingo,  the  country  home  of  Maxi- 
milian. A  most  picturesque  little  chapel 
itands  near  the  entrance  to  the  grounds, 
where  fruit  trees  of  various  kinds,  coffee, 
etc.,  grow  in  wild  profusion,  and  what 
pnce  served  as  the  home  of  an  Emperor 
s  now  devoted  to  the  practical  occupa- 
tion of  chicken  raising.  "Thus  are  the 
nighty  fallen." 

Cuernavaca  boasts  a  number  of  old 
puildings,  the  most  important  of  which 
are  the  Cortes  Palace,  now  the  State  Capi- 
tol, and  the  Cortes  Cathedral,  which  is 
the  most  imposing  of  the  many  churches 
pf  the  place.  I  was  shown  through  thi 
Former  building  by  a  genial  old  native, 
\vho  pointed  out  with  apparent  pride  por- 
traits of  many  of  Mexico's  great  men,  and 
explained  the  use  of  each  room,  my  know- 
edge  of  Spanish  being  sufficient  to  enable 
tne  to  understand  most  of  what  he  said. 
Vluch  to  my  surprise,  he  refused  a  "pro— 
sina,"  which  is  about  as  un-Mexican  as 
my  thing  I  can  imagine,  but  I  have  since 
earned  that  onides  in  the  public  build- 
nsrs  here  are  not  allowed  to  accept  gratui- 
ties. 

A  chapter  should  be  devoted  to  the 
churches  of  Mexico,  and  I  will  leave  them 
for  a  future  letter.  Many  are  several  cen- 
turies old,  quaint  in  architecture,  outlines 
iind  colorings  softened  by  age,  and.  to  me 
|verv  beautiful.  No  Indian  puebla  is  too 
diminutive  to  have  its  chapel,  and  many 
small  towns  possess  church  buildings  that 
koulo  grace  a  large  city.  Cuernavaca  has 
per  full  quota  of  these  interesting  old 
Structures. 

A  well  kept  plaza  is  found  in  every  vil- 
lage, the  larger  places  usually  designat- 

••  TITE  SIMPLE  LIFE. 

P.  PORTION  OP  PATIO  OF  MORELOS  HOTEL. 
:).  <;':\KI;AL  VIEW  OF  CUERNAVACA  CORTES 
CATHEDRAL  AT  THE  LEFT. 


-i       v 


SEPTEMBER 


V 

<:m 

'•    f/ 

'" 


F 


i 


7 


*VIV 

*  \%  '  t 


IN    THIS    NUMBER: 

DEFENDING  THE 
PACIFIC  COAST 

BY    ARTHUR    H.    BUTTON 


SPENDIN(i    si), 181,403.23 
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cTVlanufacturers  and  Originators 


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Vol.  L 


No,  3 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY 

An  Illustrated  Magazine  of  the   West 


CONTENTS    FOR    SEPTEMBER,    1907 


PROTECTED     CRUISER      MILWAUKEE 

DEFENDING    THE     PACIFIC     COAST 

Illustrated  with  Photographs. 

MY     PLACE.       Verse 

HIGH    POLITICS    IN    OHIO 

Drawing  by  R.   W.   Borough. 

NEGLECT.       Verse         ...  ... 

SPENDING     $9,181,403.23.         .         . 
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Illustrated  with  Photographs. 

THE     ENDING.       Story 

CAMPING   OUT    IN    CALIFORNIA         .   "     . 

IN    NEW   SUMMER    LANDS  .... 

Photographs  by  the  author. 

WIND  ON   THE  SEA.      Verse 

LITTLE    MUSKY'S    STORY.      Story     . 

Illustrated   by   Eloise   J.    Roorbach. 

THE    MAN    WHO    INSPIRED    "RAMONA." 

Illustrated  with  Photographs. 
"GRANDMA"    VARNER    and    "TOMMY" 
Photograph  by  F.  P.  Stevens. 

OBSCURITY.       Verse 

OUR     SURFMEN        

Photographs  furnished  by  S.  I.  Kimball. 

COLLEGE    AND    THE    WORLD 

Illustrated  with  Photographs. 

A    BUSINESS    MAN'S    VIEW    OF    COLLEGE 
JUST  OUT  OF  COLLEGE         .... 
WHY    I   AM    GOING   TO   COLLEGE 

THE   GOLD    OF   SUN    DANCE    CANYON      . 

Illustrated   by    Clyde   Cooke. 

COWBOYS    ASTRAY.       Story 

Illustrated  by  W.   R.   Davenport. 

UNLIMITED    ELECTRIC    POWER 

DEATH   ON  THE  MARSHES.     Verse RAYMOND    SUMNER    BARTLETT 

REFLECTIONS.       Editorial    Comment 

POUSSE     CAFE          

THE    LADY   AND    POLITICS         .         .  ALLIS   ROSS  BURNETT 


FRONTISPIECE 

ARTHUR    H.    DUTTON  199 

MABEL   PORTER  PITTS  207 

WASHINGTON   DAVIS  209 

W.    G.    TINCKOM-FERNANDEZ         210 

WINNIFRED   MEARS  211 

ANNIE   LAURA  MILLER  221 

JENNET    JOHNSON  233 

ROCKWELL  D.  HUNT  236 

FELIX  J.    KOCH  238 

ARTHUR    POWELL  246 

CLARENCE  HAWKES  247 

LOUIS  J.   STELLMANN  252 

ELIZABETH   A.    KELLY  255 

DONALD   B.    TOBEY  259 

JOANNA  NICHOLLS  KYLE  260 


HARRIS  WEINSTOCK  270 

DENISON    HALLEY   CLIFT  274 

BERTRAM   WELLS  278 

C.    JUSTIN   KENNEDY  280 

i 

HERBERT    COOLIDGE  285 

BURTON  WALLACE  289 

292 


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be  pasted  on  like  wall  paper,  52  inches  wide.  It  costs  little  more  than  Burlaps,  and  has 
taken  the  place  of  Burlaps  in  private  homes,  being  softer,  smoother  and  more  rich  and 
restful.  We  recommend  these  most  highly.  We  have  made  special  silk  draperies  to 
match  them. 

GOBELIN    ART    CRETONS 

For  Wall  Hangings.  They  are  pasted  on  like  wall  paper.  They  are  taking  tne  place  of 
the  latter,  being  softer  and  more  artistic,  costing  very  little  more — about  the  same  as 
wall  paper  at  $1  a  roll.  We  have  them  in  styles  of  Grecian,  Russian,  Venetian,  Brazilian, 
Roman,  Rococo,  Dresden,  Festoon,  College  Stripe,  Marie  Antoinette,  Indian,  Calcutta,  Bom- 
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W/\LL    PAPERS 

New  styles  designed  by  gold  medal  artists.  Send  50c.  to  prepay  expenses  on  large  sample 
books  and  drapery.  Will  include  drapery  samples  in  package.  See  our  Antique,  Metallic, 
French,  Pressed  Silks  and  lid  a  effects.  Have  500  different  wal!  hangings  with  draperies 
especially  made  to  match. 

DRAPERIES 

We  have  draperies  to  match  all  kinds  of  hanging  from  15c.  a  yard.  This  is  a  very  im- 
portant feature  to  attain  the  acme  of  artistic  excellence  in  decoration.  No  matter  how 
much  or  how  little  you  want  to  spend,  you  must  have  harmony  in  form  and  color.  Send 
25c.  to  pay  postage. 

FREE 

If  -you  will  send  us  the  floor  plans  of  your  house,  we  will  send  you  free  a  color  scheme, 
illustrated  by  samples  themselves.  (Regular  charge  for  this  is  $25.)  Tell  us  what  you  want 
on  the  walls  of  the  principal  rooms — tint,  paint,  paper  or  stuff.  We  can  decorate  your 
house  from  $200  up.  If  possible,  send  us  the  plans;  rough  pencil  outline  will  do.  Tell  us  if 
you  want  curtains,  carpets,  furniture — in  fact,  itemize  to  us  everything  you  desire.  If  you 
have  any  or  all  of  these  articles,  let  us  know  the  color  of  them,  so  we  can  bring  them  into 
the  color  scheme.  Send  25c.  to  pay  postage. 

Douthitt's  Manual  of  Art  Decorations.  The  art  book  of  the  century.  200  royal  quarto  pages 
filled  with  full  page  illustrations  of  modern  home  interiors  and  studies.  Price  $2.  If  you 
want  to  be  up  in  decoration,  send  $2  for  this  book;  worth  $50. 

School.  Six  3-hour  tapestry  painting  lessons,  in  studio,  $5.00.  Complete  written  instructions 
by  mail,  $1.00.  Tapestry  paintings  rented;  full-size  drawings,  paints,  brushes,  etc.,  sup- 
plied. Nowhere,  Paris  not  excepted,  are  such  advantages  offered  pupils.  New  catalogue  of 
225  studies,  25c.  Send  $1.00  for  complete  instructions  in  tapestry  painting  and  compendium 
of  studies. 

Tapestry  Materials.  We  manufacture  Tapestry  Materials  superior  to  foreign  goods  and  half 
the  prices.  Book  of  samples,  lOc.  Send  $1.50  for  trial  order  for  two  yards  of  50  inch  wide 
No.  6  goods,  worth  $3.00. 

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A  New  Pattern 
in  a  Famous  Brand 

CHARTER  OAK  is  the  name  of  the  newest 
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There  is  nothing  so  soothing  as  a  mother's 
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oMillions  of  people  all  over  th 
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because  of  its  genuine  value  as 
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those  who  have  good  teeth  an 
want  to  keep  them  so. 


Overland  Monthly 


No.  3 


SEPTEMBER,     1907 


Vol.  L 


BATTLESHIP    OHIO. 


DEFENDING    THE    PACIFIC    COAST 


AN  EXPLANATION  FOR    THE  GREAT  MILITARY 
AND  NATAL  MANEUVRES  IN  THE  WEST 

BY 

ARTHUR    H.    BUTTON 

Late  Lieutenant  U.  S.  Navy. 

ILLUSTRATED    WITH    PHOTOGRAPHS. 


TRANGELY      enough, 
the  misnamed  Pacific 
Ocean     is     now     the 
scene  of  the  greatest 
military   activities   in 
the  world.     Far  from 
being      pacific,      this 
ocean  promises  to  be- 
come the   scene   of   the   world's  greatest 
struggles  of  the  future,  just  as  the  Medit- 
erranean sea  was  their  scene  in  the  past. 

The  immediate  cause  for  this  is  the 
long-predicted  awakening  of  the  Orient 
from  its  lethargv  of  centuries.  This  awak- 


ening has  already  commenced  with  Japan 
which,  within  two  generations,  has  taken 
her.  place  among  the  great  powers.  China 
will  follow  next,  and  when  that  leviathan 
reaches  the  stage  of  progress  reached  by 
Japan,  events  passing  the  power  of  the 
imagination  to  conceive  will  take  place. 

That  the  Pacific  Ocean  is  destined  to 
play  the  leading  part  in  the  coming  great 
wars  is  fully  appreciated  by  the  United 
States,  which  will  naturally  be  the  first 
to  feel  the  awakening.  The  Navy  De- 
partment at  Washington  has  long  foreseen 
the  imperative  need  for  strengthening  our 


MONITOR  MONTEREY. 


Pacific  fleet,  and  exactly  a  year  ago  it 
was  well  known  that  a  "force  of  battle- 
ships was  about  to  be  sent  to  this  coast. 
Then  came  the  Japanese  school  incident, 
and  it  was  deemed  impolitic  to  reinforce 
the  Pacific  fleet  until  that  incident  was 
closed.  Now,  a  sufficient  time  after  the 
settling  of  the  school  incident,  it  is  offi- 
cially announced  that  the  main  battleship 
fleet  of  the  Atlantic,  together  with  an 
armored  cruiser  division,  with  numerous 
smaller  auxiliary  vessels,  will  reach  the 
Pacific  Ocean  this  winter.  This  will  at 
once  give  the  United  States  the  vitally  im- 
portant military  command  of  the  Pacific 
Ocean,  for  no  nation  in  the  world  save 
Great  Britain  can  muster  a  fleet  suffi- 
ciently powerful  to  defeat  this  Atlantic 
fleet,  which  is  composed  of  the  flower  of 
our  navy,  as  regards  both  material  and 
personnel. 

The  Atlantic  battleship  fleet  which  will 
come  to  the  Pacific  is  composed  of  the 
modern,  up-to-date  battleships  Connecti- 
cut, Louisiana,  Maine,  Missouri,  Georgia, 
New  Jersey,  Rhode  Island,  Virginia,  Ala- 
bama, Illinois,  Kearsarge,  Kentucky, 
Ohio,  Minnesota,  Kansas  and  Vermont, 
to  which  will  be  added  the  Nebraska  and 


the  Wisconsin,  already  in  Puget  Sound, 
making  a  fleet  of  eighteen  first-class,  mod- 
ern battleships,  in  excellent  condition. 

Already  in  the  Pacific,  in  Oriental 
waters,  are  the  fine  armored  cruisers  West 
Virginia,  Colorado,  Maryland  and  Penn- 
sylvania. Their  two  sister  ships,  the 
California  and  the  South  Dakota,  are 
now  on  this  coast,  and  the  still  more  pow- 
erful Washington  and  Tennessee  are  on 
their  way  f rom  the  Atlantic  to  join  them, 
making  eight  powerful  armored  cruisers 
to  add  to  the  eighteen  battleships.  Of 
course,  there  are  already  in  the  Pacific 
several  protected  cruisers,  gunboats  and 
other  lesser  craft,  but  still  more  will  ac- 
company the  battleship  fleet  hither. 

This  concourse  of  warships  will  of  it- 
self be  more  powerful  than  the  entire 
Japanese  navy,  which  is  the  navy  in  the 
Pacific  which  has  a  fleet  of  any  strength. 
In  a  word,  with  the  arrival  of 'the  Atlan- 
tic battleship  fleet  in  the  Pacific  Ocean, 
that  great  body  of  water  will  be  domi- 
nated by  the  United  States,  for  as  every 
tyro  knows,  command  of  the  sea  is  the 
key  to  success  in  war  between  maritime 
nations. 

Even  with  this  great  movement  of  war 


DEFENDING  THE  PACIFIC  COAST. 


201 


vessels  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific, 
the  former  will  not  be  left  unguarded. 
There  will  still  remain  the  new  Missis- 
sippi and  Idaho,  the  old  Iowa,  Massa- 
chusetts and  Indiana,  on  the  Atlantic  sta- 
tion. But  what  is  of  greater  importance, 
new  battleships  of  greater  and  greater 
power,  are  being  steadily  turned  out  from 
Eastern  shipyards,  to  be  added  as  com- 
pleted to  the  Atlantic  fleet,  which,  in  ad- 
dition to  the  five  relatively  weak  battle- 
ships already  named,  will  have,  within  a 
year,  the  great  Michigan,  South  Caro- 
lina and  New  Hampshire,  and  within 
three  years,  the  three  monster  20,000  ton 
vessels  of  the  new  Constitution  class, 
which  will  be  even  more  powerful  than 
the  much-vaunted  British  Dreadnaught 
and  the  Japanese  Satsuma  and  Aki.  More 
armored  cruisers  are  also  being  con- 
structed in  the  East. 

The  Atlantic  fleet,  which,  will  soon  be- 
come the  Pacific  fleet,  has  been  undergo- 
ing severe  and  unremitting  drills, 
manoeuvres  and  target  practice  for  many 
months,  until  it  is  now  in  the  highest 
state  of  efficiency.  The  marksmanship  of 
the  American  navy  is  better  than  that  of 
any  other  nation  of  the  world,  some  of 


the  record  shooting  being  little  less  than 
marvelous. 

Taken  altogether,  the  new  disposition 
of  the  ships  of  the  American  Xavy  means 
security  for  the  Pacific  Coast  from  attack 
by  any  nation.  An  important  point, 
which  seems  to  have  been  missed  by  most 
writers  on  the  subject  is  that  the  pres- 
ence of  a  powerful  fleet  in  the  Pacific  will 
insure  the  retention  of  our  outlying  coal- 
ing and  repair  stations,  such  as  those  in 
Hawaii  and  the  Philippines.  If  any  of 
these  were  threatened,  the  fleet  could  be 
despatched  to  them  to  drive  off  the  at- 
tacking ships.  Even  if  they  should  fait 
before  a  sudden  onslaught,  they  would 
not  remain  long  in  the  enemy's  hands,  for 
we  could  retake  them  in  a  short  time. 
However,  these  depots  are  now  being  for- 
tified so  that  they  would  probably  be  able 
to  stand  off  an  attacking  fleet  until  the 
arrival  of  our  own. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  in  torpedo 
vessels,  the  United  States  is  inferior  to 
Japan.  In  the  Japanese  Navy  there  are 
54  destroyers,  79  torpedo  boats  and  five 
submarines,  while  the  American  navy  pos- 
sesses but  sixteen  destroyers,  33  torpedo 
boats  and  12  submarines.  All  of  the 


MONITOR    WYOMING 


202 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


Japanese  torpedo  fleet  are  in  the  Pacific 
Ocean,  where  the  United  States  navy  has 
but  eight  destroyers,  four  torpedo  boats 
and  two  submarines. 

Still,  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  the 
experiences  of  the  Spanish-American  war 
and  of  the  Eusso-Japanese  war  prove 
conclusively  that  the  torpedo  boat  is  a 
much  over-rated  weapon.  They  are  of 
great  value  for  certain  things,  such  as 
reconnoitering,  making  sudden  dashes  un- 
der cover  of  fog  or  darkness,  and  for  giv- 
ing the  coup-de-grace  to  large  vessels  al- 
ready disabled  by  gun  fire.  They  are  but 
auxiliary  to  the  larger  ships,  just  as  light 


destined  for  the  Pacific  fleet;  a  few  small 
cruisers  and  gunboats  and  the  torpedo 
fleet  mentioned. 

The  United  States  Pacific  fleet  alone, 
when  the  vessels  ordered  here  arrive,  will 
consist  of  the  following: 

Battleships  (18) — Connecticut,  Kan- 
sas, Louisiana,  Vermont,  Virginia,  Geor- 
gia, New  Jersey,  Rhode  Island,  Alabama, 
Illinois,  Kentucky,  Kearsarge,  Ohio, 
Maine,  Missouri,  Minnesota,  Wisconsin, 
Nebraska. 

Armored  cruisers  (8) — West  Virginia, 
Maryland,  Pennsylvania,  Colorado,  Cali- 
fornia, South  Dakota^  Washington,  Ten- 


GUARD  MOUNT  AND  INSPECTION   AT   THE   PRESIDIO. 


cruisers,  gunboats,  colliers  and  repair 
ships  are  auxiliary  to  them.  The  battle- 
ships and  big  cruisers  are  the  mainstays 
and  backbone  of  a  navy.  Our  inferiority 
in  torpedo  craft  is  far  more  than  compen- 
sated for  by  our  superiority  in  all  other 
classes  of  vessels.  Japan's  whole  navy, 
now  afloat,  comprises  but  17  battleships, 
many  of  which  are  old,  such  as  some  of 
those  captured  from  Russia  and  refitted; 
34  large  armored  or  protected  cruisers, 
not  one  of  which  is  the  equal  of  any  of 
the  eight  American  armored  cruisers  now 


nessee. 

First  class  protected  cruisers  (3)  — 
Charleston,  Milwaukee,  St.  Louis. 

Second  class  protected  cruisers  (9)  — 
Chattanooga,  Cincinnati,  Galveston,  Ra- 
leigh, Denver,  Cleveland,  Chicago,  Al- 
bany, New  Orleans. 

Gunboats,  sea-going  (3) — 'Princeton, 
Helena,  Wilmington. 

Armored  coast  defense  vessels  (3)  — 
Monterey,  Monadnock,  Wyoming. 

The  battleship  Oregon  is  now  undergo- 
ing an  extensive  overhauling,  and  within 


PRACTICE  WITH  MOUNTAIN  HOWITZERS 


a  year  will  be  added  to  the  Pacific  fleet, 
making  nineteen  first  class  battleships  in 
all.  Excluding  the  Oregon,  however,  it 
will  be  seen  at  once  that  before  the  end  of 
this  year,  the  Pacific  fleet  will  consist  of 
29  armored  vessels,  most  of  them  heavy, 
modern,  powerful  battleships  and  armored 
cruisers,  the  entire  fleet,  exclusive  of  tor- 
pedo and  other  auxiliary  craft,  number- 
ing 44  sea-going  fighting  ships. 

That  the  total  battery  power  of  this 
great  fleet  is  enormous  may  be  realized 
when  it  is  considered  that  the  fleet  carries 
74  12-inch  guns,  12  10-inch,  118  8-inch, 
and  several  hundred  guns  of  lesser  cali- 
bre. The  weight  of  metal  that  the  com- 
bined fleet  can  throw  is  a  matter  for  the 
imagination  to  attack. 

So  much  for  the  naval  factor  of  the  de- 
fense of  the  Pacific  Coast. 

As  for  the  army  factor,  it  is  comforting 
to  know  that  San  Francisco  is,  with  the 
exception  of  New  York,  the  most  strongly 
fortified  city  in  the  country.  Its  batteries 
are  ample,  well  placed  and  heavily  armed. 
and  its  harbor  is  divided  into  fields,  which 
can  be  strewn  with  submarine  mines  at 
two  days'  notice.  At  the  Presidio,  Fort 
Miley.  Fort  Baker  and  Point  Bonita,  guns 
of  the  heaviest  calibre — 12-inch — are 
mounted  on  disappearing  carriages;  12- 
inch  mortars  are  placed  at  several  places 


in  pits,  where  they  cannot  be  reached  by 
an  enemy's  shot,  however  powerful ;  8  inch 
and  5-inch  rapid-fire  guns  are  mounted 
in  advantageous  places  for  engaging  at 
close  range,  and  an  admirable  system  of 
lange  finding  and  fire  control  has  been 
installed.  Puget  Sound  is  also  thorough- 
ly fortified,  its  narrow  waters  being 
fringed  with  batteries  carrying  guns  of 
high  power.  Forts  Flagler,  Worden,  Co- 
lumbia and  Casey  are  strong  strategic  po- 
sitions, well  armed.  At  the  entrance  to 
the  Columbia  river  is  Fort  Stevens,  up- 
to-date  and  well  armed,  but  it  is  thought 
that  other  batteries  might  with  advantage 
be  placed  at  this  important  entrance.  San 
Diego  is  defended  by  Fort  Eosecrans,  and 
with  this  the  list  of  Pacific  Coast  ports 
which  are  provided  with  fortifications 
ends.  Puget  Sound,  Portland,  San  Fran- 
cisco and  San  Diego  are  the  only  ports 
on  the  coast  which  can  stand  an  enemy 
off  until  the  arrival  of  a  relieving  fleet. 
An  enemy,  in  the  absence  of  a  fleet,  can 
land  anywhere  on  the  Pacific  Coast  he 
likes,  except  at  the  places  named,  pro- 
vided, of  course,  that  our  navy  permits 
him  to  reach  our  shores. 

At  the  principal  ports  along  the  coast 
plans  have  been  perfected  for  the  speedy 
laying  of  submarine  mines,  the  great  effi- 
cacy of  which  was  so  well  demonstrated 


204 


OVERLAID  MONTHLY. 


during  the  Russo-Japanese  war.  Hundreds 
of  mines  are  stored  away  in  secure  places, 
and  there  are  torpedo  companies  included 
in  the  coast  artillery,  composed  of  men 
specially  trained  in  the  handling  of  mines. 

One  manifest  weakness  of  our  coast  de- 
fense, particularly  on  the  Pacific  Coast,  is 
the  scarcity  of  trained  artillerymen.  Mod- 
ern ordnance  is  complicated,  and  requires 
expert  artisans  and  mechanicians  not  only 
for  its  use  but  for  its  preservation  in  a 
high  state  of  efficiency.  Although  the  ar- 
tillery corps  was  increased  by  Congress 
at  its  last  session,  the  increase  was  still 
far  below  the  needs  of  the  service.  Even 
with  the  increase,  the  coast  fortifications 
are  barely  manned  when  every  company 
is  called  out.  In  time  of  war,  when  re- 
liefs must  be  furnished  for  the  guns,  there 
would  be  no  reserve  upon  which  to  call. 

It  was  due  to  an  appreciation  of  this 
fact  that  the  War  Department  has  called 
upon  the  National  Guard  to  act  as  a  re- 
serve for  the  coast  defenses.  For  several 
years,  in  the  East,  the  experiment  has 
been  found  successful,  and  within  the  last 


two  months  the  National  Guardsmen  of 
California  have  been  mobilized  at  the  for- 
tifications of  San  Francisco  and  at  San 
Diego,  where  they  have  received  instruc- 
tion in  the  handling  of  the  artillery,  large 
and  small,  at  the  various  batteries. 

The  Second,  Fifth  and  Seventh  regi- 
ments of  infantry  of  the  California  Na- 
tional Guard,  were  called  out  and  for 
over  two  weeks  had  practical  exercise? 
with  modern  ordnance.  The  zeal  and  pro- 
ficiency they  displayed  won  for  them  the 
highest  praise  from  the  regular  officers 
and  men,  who  were  pleased  to  find  that 
such  good  material  existed  for  them  to 
call  upon  should  hostilities  occur.  Day 
after  day,  the  militiamen  participated  ic 
all  the  acts  that  would  be  performed 
should  an  attack  be  made  upon  San  Fran- 
cisco. There  were  simulations  of  attacks 
from  seaward,  both  by  day  and  by  night, 
during  which  the  heavy  guns  were  brought 
into  play,  and  the  mortar  batteries  dis- 
charged at  proper  times. 

These  mortar  batteries  are  among  the 
most  interesting  details  of  the  coast  de- 


MACHINE  OUNS   IN   ACTION". 


DEFENDING  THE  PACIFIC  COAST. 


205 


fenses.  They  are  in  pits,  and  are  used 
for  high  angle  fire.  No  shot  can  strike 
them,  for  they  are  far  below  the  surface 
of  the  hillocks  in  which  they  are  placed. 
So  remarkable  is  their  accuracy  and  so 
refined  the  delicate  instruments  used  in 
aiming  them,  that  the  great  12-inch  shells 
they  discharge  can  be  dropped  with  pre- 
cision in  any  chosen  spot.  There  are 
usually  four  mortars  in  each  battery,  all 
of  which  may  be  discharged  simultane- 
ously, and  it  means  disaster  for  any  ves- 
sel to  receive  one  of  these  deadly  projec- 


so  as  to  fall  upon  that  spot,  which  they 
may  be  depended  upon  to  do. 

Throughout  the  coast  defense,  there  is 
an  elaborate  system  of  inter-communica- 
tion between  the  various  batteries,  range- 
finders  and  other  important  points.  By 
means  of  telephones  and  visual  signaling, 
the  commanding  officer  is  in  constant 
touch  with  all  of  his  subordinates,  and 
with  every  gun  in  the  defenses.  Fire- 
control,  which  does  not  mean  suppression 
of  conflagration,  but  control  of  the  firing 
from  the  guns,  has  been  elaborated  until 


OFFICER    DIRECTING    MOVEMENTS    THROUGH  FIELD  TELEPHONE. 


tiles,  falling  from  skyward,  upon  unar- 
mored  deck  and  plunging  down  into  the 
vitals  below. 

The  harbor  and  its  approaches  are  di- 
vided into  a  large  number  of  rectangles, 
each  of  which  is  numbered  and  its  exact 
distance  and  bearing  known  to  the  offi- 
cers in  charge  of  the  mortar  batteries. 
When  a  ship  is  seen  entering,  say,  rec- 
tangle 365,  that  number  is  telephoned  to 
the  mortar  batteries  commanding  the  rec- 
tangle, and  the  mortars  are  quickly  aimed 


now  the  entire  method  of  fire  is  actually 
under  the  thumb  of  the  commanding  offi- 
cer. There  is  no  firing  at  will  unless  he 
so  desires  H. 

Recently  it  has  been  decided  to  enlarge 
the  Benicia  arsenal,  with  a  view  of  carry- 
ing on  there  the  manufacture  of  ammuni- 
tion and  other  military  supplies  on  a 
larger  scale  than  ever  before.  This  ar- 
senal, on  account  of  its  central  and  con- 
venient location,  will  then  be  the  main 
ammunition  depot  of  the  Pacific  Coast. 


VISUAL  SIGNALING "WIG-WAG""  SYSTEM. 


FIELD  ARTILLERY  ON  THE  MARCH. 


MY  PLACE. 


207 


At  the  present  time,  there  are  stationed 
in  the  States  of  Washington,  Oregon  and 
California,  twenty-seven  companies  of 
coast  artillery,  of  which  one  is  a  torpedo 
company;  three  batteries  of  light  artil- 
lery; two  batteries  of  mountain  artillery; 
one  company  of  the  hospital  corps;  one 
company  of  the  signal  corps;  ten  troops 
of  cavalry,  and  four  regiments  of  ,infan- 
try.  There  are  also  two  battalions  of 
infantry  in  Alaska  and  one  in  Hawaii. 

This  represents  a  total  of  about  11,000 
regular  troops  now  stationed  on  the 
Pacific  Coast.  In  time  of  war,  this  num- 
ber would  have  to  be  increased  to  100,000 
at  once,  for  defensive  purposes  alone;  to 
man  the  permanent  fortifications  and  to 
have  an  army  to  repel  an  invasion  until 
the  navy  could  arrive  to  defeat  it. 

It  is  almost  impossible,  however,  to  im- 
agine any  serious  attempt  being  made  to 
attack  any  Pacific  Coast  town,  unless  by 
a  sudden  raid,  which  might  do  damage, 
but  would  not  last  long  enough  to  work 
any  permanent  injury  to  the  coast.  The 
arrival  of  the  great  Atlantic  fleet  of  bat- 
tleships insures  that  no  formidable  ex- 
pedition can  reach  our  shores  in  a  short 
time,  if  at  all. 

There  is,  too,  that  great  factor  of  war- 
fare, wealth,  on  our  side  of  the  Pacific 
Ocean.  Money  is  needed  in  vast  quantities 
in  war,  and  no  nation  has  quite  as  much 
wealth,  actual  and  potential,  as  the  United 
States.  The  only  hope  that  another  na- 
tion could  have  in  the  way  of  recouping 


its  treasury  would  be  by  securing  a  great 
indemnity  from  the  United  States,  but 
that  would  mean  defeat  for  this  country. 
Defeat  can  only  come  if  we  neglect  our 
navy  and  permit  it  to  fall  into  ineffi- 
ciency. As  long  as  we  have  a  strong,  alert, 
efficient  navy,  we  can  retain  the  command 
of  the  Pacific  Ocean,  and  having  this  com- 
mand, we  can  regard  any  warlike  demon- 
strations in  the  Pacific  with  composure. 

It  is  another  important  and  fortunate 
fact  for  the  United  States  that  we  are 
self-reliant  in  every  military  sense.  We 
do  not  have  to  go  abroad  for  ships,  guns, 
food  or  money.  Every  kind  of  arm  and 
munition  of  war  is  found  right  in  this 
country.  We  have  our  own  shipyards, 
our  own  armor  factories,  our  own  gun 
foundries,  our  own  ammunition  depots. 
We  can  build  the  largest  ships  and  guns 
and  do  not  have  to  go  abroad  to  float  our 
public  loans.  Our  own  people  quickly 
•snap  up  our  war  bonds. 

Doubtless  there  will  be  great  wars 
waged  on  the  waters  of  the  Pacific  Ocean 
in  the  future,  with  the  great  changes 
brought  by  the  awakening  of  the  Orient 
and  the  competition  between  Occidental 
nations  for  the  Orient's  trade.  Doubtless, 
the  United  States  will  take  a  hand  in  some 
of  these  great  conflicts  but  by  maintaining 
our  naval  supremacy  the  conflicts  will  be 
fewer  and  shorter,  and  above  all,  it  is 
not  probable  that  the  severe  fighting  will 
be  on  our  own  coast.  It  will  take  place 
farther  West. 


MY  PLACE 

BY    MABEL    PORTER    PITTS 

I  watch  the  sunshine  on  the  distant  fields, 

I  feel  the  glory  of  a  moonlit  sky, 
And  know  by  vague  desire  which  through  me  steals 

That  not  a  cause,  but  pensioner  am  I. 


>. 


r  / 

mft;:..  -ffflftM'/,          i''  I 

^/••i:;:MmW." '  li-v-iiA.-/ 


HON.  JOS.  B.  FORAKER,  UNITED  STATES     SENATOR  OF  OHIO. 

Drawn  by  R.  W.  Borough. 


HIGH   POLITICS    IN    OHIO 


BY 
WASHINGTON    DAVIS 

Author  of  "Camp-Fire  Chats  of  the  Civil   War,"   "The    Syndic," 
Literary  Associate  of  Huhert  Howe  Bancroft. 

DRAWING    BY    R.    W.    BOROUGH. 


and 


T'S   GETTING     warm 
in  Ohio  politics. 

California's  view  of 
the  Foraker-Taf t  fight 
there     may     be     ex- 
pressed in  a  few  blunt 
words,  based    on    the 
positive    facts   of   the 
personal  political  history  of  the  United 
States  Senator  as  compared  with  that  of 
the  Secretary  of  War.     One  short  para- 
graph will  do  for  each.    Both  are  natives 
of  Ohio. 

"William  Howard  Taft,  born  in  Hamil- 
ton County,  Ohio,  1857,  was  appointed  as- 
sistant prosecuting  attorney  in  1881 ;  ap- 
pointed collector  of  internal  revenue  by 
President  Arthur,  1882;  appointed  by 
Governor  (now  United  States  Senator) 
Foraker,  Judge  of  the  Superior  Court  "of 
Cincinnati,  1887;  appointed  Solicitor- 
General  by  President  Harrison  in  1890; 
appointed  president  of  the  United  States 
Philippine  Commission  by  President  Mc- 
Kinley  in  1900;  appointed  civil  governor 
of  Philippine  Islands  by  President  Mc- 
Kinley  in  1901;  appointed  Secretary  of 
War  by  President  Eoosevelt,  1904."— 
Congressional  Directory. 

Now,  with  due  respect  to  the  Secretary 
of  War,  let  us  look  at  the  record  of  the 
United  States  Senator: 

"Joseph  Benson  Foraker  was  born  July 
5,  1846,  on  a  farm  near  Eainsboro,  High- 
land County,  Ohio;  enlisted  July  14,  1862, 
as  a  private  in  Co.  A.  89th  Ohio  Vol.  In- 
fantry, with  which  he  served  until  close 


of  war,  at  which  time  he  held  rank  of  1st 
Lieutenant  and  brevet  Captain;  was 
graduated  from  Cornell  University, 
Ithaca,  N.  Y.,  July  1,  1869;  admitted  to 
the  bar  and  entered  on  practice  of  law 
in  Cincinnati,  Ohio,  Oct.  14,  1869:  was 
elected  Judge  of  the  Superior  Court  of 
Cincinnati  April,  1879;  resigned  on  ac- 
count of  ill  health  May  1,  1882;  was  the 
Eepublican  candidate  for  Governor  of 
Ohio  in  1883,  but  was  defeated;  was  elect- 
ed to  that  office  in  1885,  and  re-elected  in 
1887;  again  nominated  and  defeated  in 
1889;  was  chairman  of  the  Eepublican 
State  Conventions  of  Ohio  for  1886,  1890, 
1896,  and  1900,  and  a  delegate  at  large 
from  Ohio  to  the  National  Eepublican 
Conventions  in  1884,  1888,  1892,  1896, 
1900  and  1904;  was  chairman  of  the  Ohio 
delegation  in  the  conventions  of  1884  and 
1888,  and  presented  to  both  of  these  con- 
ventions the  name  of  the  Hon.  John  Sher- 
man for  nomination  to  the  Presidency; 
in  the  conventions  of  1892  and  1896  served 
as  chairman  of  the  Committee  on  Eesolu- 
tions,  and  as  such  reported  the  platform 
each  time  to  the  conventions;  presented 
the  name  of  Wm.  McKinley  to  the  conven- 
tions of  1896  and  1900  for  nomination  to 
the  Presidency ;  was  elected  United  States 
Senator  January  15,  1896,  to  succeed  Cal- 
vin S.  Brice,  and  took  his  seat  Ma-rch  4, 
1897;  was  re-elected  January  15,  1902,  to 
succeed  himself.  His  term  of  service  will 
expire  March  3,  1909." — Congressional 
Directory. 

Thus,  while  the  Honorable  Secretary  of 
War  has  always  been  appointed  to  every- 
thing, never  elected  to  anything,  the  Hon- 
orable United  States  Senator  has  been 
Governor  of  his  own  State  twice;  is  now 


210 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


his  own  state's  senior  senator,  serving 
his  second  term;  nominated  McKinley 
both  times,  and  appointed  the  present 
Secretary  of  War  to  a  Judgeship. 

These  ase  the  facts.  From  this  side  of 
the  Great  Divide,  it  appears  like  a  case  of 
Foraker  vs.  No.  2.  Taft  has  always  played 
second  fiddle,  even  when  President  Roose- 
velt  did  all  he  could  to  take  him  from  the 
Philippines  and  put  him  upon  the  Su- 
preme Bench  of  the  United  States. 

High  politics  in  Ohio  and  some  other 
places  are  now  being  cut  and  dried  for  the 
next  national  Eepublican  nomination,  and 
whoever  gets  it  is  to  be  supported  by  all 
good  Republicans;  but  California  often 
skips  a  lot  of  details  when  wishing  a  de- 


sired end.  We  were  made  a  State  without 
going  through  any  territorial  process,  and 
we  like  Ohio  all  right,  but  we  prefer  to 
deal  with  men  who  are  and  have  been 
elected  rather  than  those  who  have  been 
appointed. 

It's  Foraker  vs.  No.  2.  Though  Taft 
might  make  a  good  president,  he  would 
still  be  No.  2,  for  we've  had  one  Fat 
President  already. 

Senator  Foraker,  as  the  facts  of  history 
prove,  has  always  been  No.  1  or  nothing, 
generally  No.  1.  I  think  he  ought  to  be 
President  of  the  United  States. 

California  wants  no  No.  2's  either  in 
National,  State  or  Municipal  administra- 
tions. 


NEGLECT 

BY 
W.    G.    TINCKOM-FERKA^DEZ 


IF  Time  the  reaper  brushed  his  sleeves  of  gray 
Through  this  old  garden,  bidding  me  request 
Some  trifle  of  the  weeds  that  all  unguessed 
Long  flourished  here,  I  know  what  I  would  say. 
Into  this  garden  on  an  autumn  day 
There  came  a  man  bound  for  the  weary  West, 
Who  spake  me  fair,  and  paused  to  be  my  guest, 
Grew  warm  beside  my  fire,  and  went  his  way. 

But  never  more  I  saw  him :    Dark  years  fled, 

And  often  I  recalled  the  pleasant  hour 

We  lonely  souls  had  spent;  and  soon  there  grew 

Eegret  upon  regret,  for  then  I  knew 

We  might  have  been  good  friends — But  now  that  flower 

In  my  garden  blooms,  and — he  is  dead. 


NEW  HOME  FOR  AGED  AND  INFIRM  ON  THE  ALMSHOUSE  TRACT. 

SPENDING    $9,181,403.23 

THE    FIRST    ACCURATE    ACCOUNT    OF    THE    SAN 

FRANCISCO    RELIEF    FUND    AND    ITS 

ACTUAL    DISBURSEMENT 

BY 
WINNIFRED  MEARS 

ILLUSTRATED    WITH    PHOTOGRAPHS. 

There  have  been  many  published  articles  on  the  distribution  of  the  funds 
which  flowed  so  generously  into  San  Francisco  immediately  after  the  disaster  of 
April,  1906.  But  the  actual  account  of  how  every  dollar  was  spent  has  been  until 
now  withheld  from  the  people  of  this  city.  We  are  glad,  therefore,  to  publish  the 
following  account  of  what  was  really  done  with  the  nine  million  dollars  sub- 
scribed by  the  world  for  the  relief  of  the  city's  sufferers. — EDITOR. 


UGH  HAS  been  written 
and  read  of  San 
Francisco  and  its  dis- 
aster of  April  18, 
1906.  The  calamity, 
unparalleled  in  his- 
tory, the  indescrib- 
able mass  of  fugitives 
made  homeless  by  the  fire,  the  excep- 
tional bravery  of  these  200,000  men  and 
women,  confronting  an  uncertain  future 
with  smiling  and  determined  faces — all 
have  had  their  share  of  wonderment  and 
commendation. 

The  resumption  of  commercial  and 
business  activities  of  the  city  has  been 
of  equal  interest  and  importance,  but  of 


the  actual  work  done  by  the  Kehabilita- 
tion  Committee,  and  what  was  accom- 
plished by  the  disbursement  of  the  Re- 
lief Funds,  the  public  at  large  has  had 
little,  if  any,  account  of. 

Never  in  history  have  greater  demands 
been  made  upon  the  sympathy  and  gen- 
erosity of  this  nation,  and  the  methods 
to  be  used  in  disbursing  the  millions  do- 
nated in  such  a  manner  as  to  accomplish 
the  most  good  and  least  injury  to  Ihe  self- 
respect  of  families  hitherto  independent, 
needed  wise  and  grave  consideration,  and 
called  for  a  committee  endowed  not  alone 
with  necessary  finances,  but  with  a  keen 
knowledge  of  human  nature  and  much 
experience  in  dealing  with  men. 


212 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


This  ".Relief"  comprised  the  relief  sup- 
plies, the  Congressional  appropriation, 
and  the  direct  and  local  subscriptions, 
with  those  of  the  Amercan  National  Bed 
Cross  and  its  branches — in  all,  $9,181,- 
403.23  (of  which  $312,035.82  was  for- 
eign.) 

The  first  important  problems  of  food 
and  clothing  solved  by  the  distribution  of 
the  relief  supplies  to  the  long  lines  of 
patient  and  hungry  refugees,  the  next  es- 
sential feature  presented  was  the  provid- 
ing of  adequate  shelter  in  the  relief  camps 
for  these  homeless  thousands.  The  $2- 
500,000  Congressional  appropriation  was 
disbursed  by  the  United  States  army,  un- 
der the  direction  of  the  Headquarters  of 
the  Pacific  Division,  during  the  emergency 
period  of  April  and  May,  1906,  and  also 
in  the  following  months  of  June  and  July, 
1906,  during  which  time  it  was  possible 
to  administer  relief  in  a  more  systematic 
way.  This  money  provided  food  and 


porated,  with  a  board  of  twenty-one  direc- 
tors and  an  executive  committee  of  five, 
with  James  D.  Phelan  president,  F.  W. 
Dohrmann  vice-president,  and  J.  Downey 
Harvey  secretary,  which  has  carried  on 
the  work  to  the  present  time,  through  its 
fire  departments. 

Commencing  in  the  month  of  Septem- 
ber, 1906,  the  thirteen  camps  which  had 
been  "under  canvas"  were  changed  from 
the  "tent"  to  "cottage"  camps.  These 
cottages,  size  fourteen  by  sixteen  feet, 
contain  two  rooms,  others  three  rooms,  and 
were  erected  by  the  Lands  and  Buildings 
Department.  The  maximum  population 
of  these  permanent  camps  has  been  about 
seventeen  thousand. 

In  all  the  camps,  the  cottages  are  oc- 
cupied by  self-supporting  families  or 
widows  with  children.  The  small  sum  of 
$2  per  room  per  month  has  been  paid  by 
the  occupants,  not  as  rent,  but  held  by  the 
corporation,  and  now  being  refunded  to 


SOME  REFUGEE  SHACKS  NOT  UNDER  THE  CORPORATION. 


clothing,  bedding,  tenting  and  medicinal 
supplies  for  the  relief  camps  and  for  the 
transportation  of  them,  and  for  the  mov- 
ing of  troops. 

On  July  20,  1906,  the  "San  Francisco 
Relief  and  "Red  Cross  Funds"  was  incor- 


the  occupants  at  such  time  as  they  move 
their  cottage  to  a  lot,  either  leased  or 
owned  by  them.  These  camps  were  es- 
tablished mostly  in  the  public  parks  and 
on  leased  land. 

In  some  of  the  camps  the  element  is 


JOHN   E.   EMERY. 


RABBI  VOORSAJSTGER. 


FATHER  CROVVLEY. 


largely  Italian,  in  others  Oriental.  No 
single  men  were  granted  cottages,  as  the 
existing  high  wages  were  considered  suffi- 
cient to  afford  room  rent  and  have  ample 
funds  for  living  expenses. 

The  occupants  of  the  camps  could  be 
called  "certified  refugees" — those  who 
were  burned  out,  those  shaken  out,  and 
those  raised  out  by  excessive  rents;  base- 
ments which  formerly  could  be  had  for 
$10  to  $12  now  demanding  $40  to  $50. 

Each  camp  was  supplied  with  sterilized 
water,  wash-houses  with  hot  and  cold  run- 
ning water,  and  bath-houses  with  shower 
baths  of  both  hot  and  cold  running  water. 
In  a  few  camps,  bath-tubs  were  also 
placed.  The  sanitation  of  the  camps  was 
excellent,  the  sewer,  water  system  and 
drainage  being  carefully  arranged.  Am- 
ple numbers  of  fire  extinguishers,  ladders, 
axes  and  hose  wagons  are  visible  as  a 
precaution  for  frequent  small  blazes.  In 
fact,  they  are  model  camps. 

An  amusing  incident  is  related  of  an 
Italian  family  who,  although  they  insisted 
that  they  had  been  "burned  out,"  when 
they  appeared  to  take  possession  of  a 
camp  cottage,  had  eight  express-wagon 
loads  of  household  goods.  The  comfort 
and  cleanliness  of  the  cottages  had  ap- 
pealed too  strongly  to  them ! 


The  thirteen  camps  of  self-supporting 
families  are  of  especial  interest  and  exem- 
plify a  harmony  of  organization  and  disci- 
pline. Probably  never  before  had  some  of 
this  class  lived  in  cleanliness  and  com- 
fort, nor  were  able  to  earn  such  high 
wages.  In  place  of  ill-ventilated  tene- 
ment houses,  each  family  had  its  own 
tiny  cottage,  with  the  ultimate  hope  of 
owning  not  only  a  roof  over  their  heads, 
but  the  lot  on  which  it  will  eventually 
stand,  for  among  the  poorer  classes  the 
problem  of  rent  (whether  for  house  or 
room),  sometimes  takes  precedence  over 
the  amount  to  be  used  for  food  and  cloth- 
ing. Truly,  a  great  calamity  is  not  with- 
out its  compensation — at  least  to  some. 

The  Park  Commissioners  have  re- 
quested that  the  Relief  Corporation  assist 
in  moving  the  refuge  cottages  from  the 
public  squares  to  permanent  sites  between 
August  1st  and  17th,  1907,  or  as  soon 
after  as  possible.  This  notice,  printed  in 
seferal  languages  has  been  distributed 
through  the  camps.  About  fifty  per  cent 
of  the  refugees  already  own  lots,  upon 
which  to  move  their  homes,  and  about 
seven  hundred  have  already  done  so.  The 
total  number  of  cottages  has  been  reduced 
to  about  five  thousand  five  hundred  at 
present.  What  arrangements  will  be 


214 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


FIRST    REFUGEE    COTTAGE   BUILT    IN    SAN 

FEANOISCO   BY  FATHER   CROWLEY 

AND   JAMES   RALPH,    JR. 

made  for  those  who  cannot  move  is  one  of 
the  problems  left  for  the  corporation  to 
unravel;  however,  the  issue  of  meal  tick- 
ets was  reduced  in  six  weeks'  time  from 
twenty  thousand  eight  hundred  and  sixty- 
seven  a  day  to  one  thousand  four  hundred 
and  ninety-seven  a  day,  and  thus  will  all 
the  relief  camps  be  closed  and  the  parks 
be  cleared. 

The  Ingleside  Home  for  Aged  and  In- 
firm, of  all  the  camps,  is  the  most  unique, 
with  its  twenty-four  adjacent  buildings  to 
be  used  gratuitously  by  the  corporation  for 
the  purpose  of  housing  refugees,  so  old  or 
infirm  that  they  could  not  work,  or  those 
who  were  temporarily  unable  to  work  as  a 
result  of  illness  or  accident.  There  were 
about  one  thousand  inmates,  but  less  than 
six  hundred  now,  some  of  whom  will 
eventually  become  public  charges.  These 
buildings,  formerly  the  shelter  for  the 
finest  of  race  horses,  were  changed  into 
very  comfortable  abodes.  Each  stall  was 
floored,  and  the  dividing  walls  covered 
with  unbleached  muslin,  and  in  each 
building  hot  and  cold  water  was  installed, 
also  one  or  more  large  stoves  for  heating 
purposes.  Several  buildings  were  devoted 
solely  to  the  poor  old  ladies,  some  to  the 
aged  men  and  others  to  married  couples. 
Still  other  buildings  were  converted  into 
a  chapel,  an  assembly  hall,  a  store-house, 
a  butcher  shop,  blacksmith  shop,  cobbler's, 
dining  hall,  dispensary,  hospital  and  laun- 
dry, each  and  all  well  heated  and  supplied 


with  electricity.  The  chapel  has  its  or- 
gan, the  assembly  hall  its  stage  and  piano, 
books  and  tables.  Several  times  a  week 
the  different  charitable  organizations  hold 
various  entertainments  for  the  refugees. 
The  sewing  cottage  has  five  or  six  ma- 
chines for  the  use  of  those  able  to  make 
their  own  garments.  There  is  even  a  cob- 
bler to  mend  their  old  shoes,  who  receives 
SI  a  day  and  material. 

The  food  furnished  is  good  and  well 
cooked.  Each  building  is  perfect  in  its 
order  and  cleanliness,  and  regular  inspec- 
tions are  held  every  week.  New  inmates 
were  furnished  with  changes  of  under- 
wear, as  well  as  the  outside  clothing,  and 
on  Wednesdays  the  old  men  receive  a 
given  portion  of  tobacco.  While  some  re- 
pented the  idea  of  going  to  Ingleside  at 
first,  as  synonymous  with  the  Almshouse, 
yet  ivh&n  there,  are  quite  content,  and 
spend  much  time  roaming  over  the  fields 
of  beautiful  golden  poppies  and  basking 
in  the  glorious  California  sunshine.  The 
Ingleside  improvements  cost  $26,737.95. 

The  maintenance  of  Ingleside  camp 
has  been  a  little  less  than  50  cents  a  head 
per  day.  By  October  15th  or  November 
1st,  the  refugees  will  be  moved  to  the  new 
Home  for  the  Aged  and  Infirm,  now  in 
process  of  completion  on  the  Almshouse 
tract.  To  many  this  move  will  be  the  last 
fall  of  pride,  and  some  few  who  are  able 
to  work  even  a  little  are  saving  their  pen- 
nies, so  that  when  the  dreaded  day  arrives 
they  can  again  face  the  world  as  self-re- 
liant citizens. 

This  new  Home  for  the  Aged  and  In- 
firm will  cost  about  $200,000,  and  is  built 
in  the  form  of  an  exact  "E,"  on  the  crest 
of  a  hill  flanked  by  the  Sutro  forests,  with 
the  Twin  Peaks  in  the  distance,  and  fac- 
ing a  magnificent  view  of  the  Pacific  to 
the  west.  The  building  will  be  502  feet 
long  by  about  350  feet  wide,  contains  ten 
wards,  arranged  in  five  buildings  to  a 
side,  each  accessible  to  the  other.  There 
will  be  two  hundred  and  forty  rooms,  and 
the  building  can  house  about  two  thou- 
sand people. 

The  expense  of  water  and  plumbing  has, 
perhaps,  been  sacrificed  to  "view" — a  fact 
which  the  inmates  of  the  future  will  en- 
joy, because  of  the  chosen  site  on  a  hill. 

There  will  be  two  dining  rooms,  one 
40x150,  and  the  other  36x96,  and  a 


SPENDING  $9,181,403.23. 


215 


kitchen  76  feet  square.  Besides  this,  there 
will  be  one  thousand  feet  of  covered  porch, 
seven  hundred  feet  of  it  enclosed  with 
glass.  This  building  will  contain,  prob- 
ably, the  most  complicated  plumbing  con- 
struction of  any  building  in  the  city. 

The  operative  expenses  of  the  camps 
and  warehouse  was  $566,370.14,  including 
Ingleside  and  South  Park.  Mr.  Eudolph 
Spreckels  was  chairman  of  the  Camps  and 
Warehouses  department. 

From  a  rough  census,  taken  in  April, 
1907,  approximately  twelve  thousand  peo- 
ple (of  which  20  per  cent  were  single 
men)  were  found  housed  in  shacks  and 
tents,  outside  of  the  permanent  camps. 
The  greatest  number  were  found  in  the 
Mission  district.  The  sanitary  conditions 
were  shocking,  and  in  striking  contrast 
with  the  camps  under  the  supervision  of 
the  Eelief  Corporation.  Some  of  these 
houses  are  fairly  comfortable,  and  have 
been  built  on  leased  land,  signifying 
the  occupants'  intention  to  remain  in- 
definitely. The  Eelief  Corporation 
ceased  on  April  1,  1907,  to  grant  money 
monthly  to  the  city  for  the  payment  of 
sanitary  inspectors  under  the  city  depart- 
ment of  public  health,  only  continuing 
contributions  for  the  permanent  camps. 

The  money  spent  by  the  Lands  and 
Buildings  Department,  Thomas  Magee, 
chairman,  was  $1,690,604.60,  of  which 
about  $490,000  was  used  for  the  '"bonus 
plan." 

(A  bonus  was  offered  to  any  one 
building  in  the  burned  district,  the  bonus 
to  be  a  third  of  the  cost  of  a  house,  but  no 
bonus  to  exceed  $500.  No  stipulation 
was  placed  on  the  cost  of  the  house.) 

The  eight  hundred  applicants  for  the 
last  one  hundred  thousand  proved  the 
success  of  the  plan. 

The  improvements  on  the  Ingleside 
buildings,  the  erection  of  the  new  Home 
for  the  Aged  and  Infirm,  the  building  of 
the  cottages  on  the  public  squares  and  the 
nineteen  apartment  houses  at  South  Park, 
reflect  great  credit  on  the  "Lands  and 
Buildings"  Departments.  The  cost  of  the 
nineteen  apartment  houses  at  the  South 
Park  camp  was  $38,627.24,  averaging 
$2,000  each. 

The  six  thousand  cottages  were  built  at 
an  average  cost  of  $100  for  two  rooms  and 


$150  for  three  rooms,  including  plumb- 
ing. 

The  buying  and  transporting  of  the 
lumber  to  the  city  for  the  cottages  was  ac- 
complished with  great  difficulty  under  the 
conditions  existing  at  that  time.  Ground 
was  broken  in  September,  1906,  and  there 
were  enough  cottages  to  house  the  refugees 
in  camp  before  the  winter  rains  com- 
menced. 

The  Department  of  Eelief  and  Ee- 
habilitation,  F.  W.  Dohrmann,  chairman, 
disbursed  $3,020,000  for  rehabilitation  of 
individuals  and  families. 

The  work  of  this  bureau  was  divided 
among  seven  sections,  one  member  of  the 
Eelief  Committee  acting  as  chairman  of 
each  section.  The  expenses  were  $331, 
430.73.* 

A  large  number  of  men  and  women  who 
had  been  connected  with  charity  work  be- 
fore the  fire  volunteered  their  time  and 
services  to  this  committee  for  the  admin- 
istering and  apportionment  of  the  special 
relief  funds.  Their  assistance  was  given 
untiringly  and  unselfishly,  for  one  long 
year,  totally  ivithout  compensation  of  any 
sort  whatsoever,  except  the  gratitude  and 
appreciation  of  the  citizens,  and  their  own 
vital  interest  in  relieving  suffering  and 
want;  or  civic  pride  in  work  well  done. 
These  sections  handled  twenty-eight 
thousand  five  hundred  and  four  applica- 
tions for  aid,  which  were  passed  upon  by 
at  least  one  member  of  the  Committee  of 
Seven.  The  grants  ranged  from  $20  to 
$300.  The  average  was  $100. 

To  some  of  the  applicants,  "investiga- 
tion" was  looked  upon  as  an  injustice; 
nevertheless  it  remains  a  necessary  evil, 
for  this  system  prevented  possible  dupli- 
cation and  imposition,  and  secured  to  the 
needy  necessary  aid 

Pleas  varied,  from  the  old  woman  who 
wanted  "a  piano  to  rest  her  soul  at  night  ' 
after  a  hard  day's  washing,  to  the  woman 
who  appeared  with  a  soup  tureen,  having 
heard  that  something  was  to  be  given 
away;  she  did  not  know  whether  it  would 
be  wet  or  dry,  so  came  prepared. 

To  some  it  was  a  temptation  to  de- 
ceive, and  the  investigators  were  necessar- 
ily careful  in  eliminating  frauds.  Few 

"This  $331,430.73  includes  the  $165,144.88  for 
the  Bureau  of  Hospitals;  the  $58,330.30  for  the 
Bureau  of  Special  Relief;  and  the  $35,902.52  for 
the  Industrial  Centers. 


216 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


grants  were  made  to  those  able  to  find 
suitable  employment,  unless  death  or  ill- 
ness had  proved  an  additional  burden. 

The  arduous  duties  of  the  Transporta- 
tion Committee,  0.  K.  Gushing,  chair- 
man, can  be  realized  in  the  days  when  the 
line  of  applicants  extended  more  than 
half  way  down  the  block.  In  one  instance 
a  man  appeared  who  had  the  day  before 
been  granted  transportation  to  Seattle, 
and  when  asked  why  he  returned,  replied 
that  he  wished  to  return  it  to  purchase  a 
half-fare  ticket,  money  having  been  re- 
ceived by  him  in  the  morning's  mail.  He 
had  stood  patiently,  the  additional  four 


Gallwey,  chairman,  disbursed  $253,833. 
About  two  thousand  applications  were  re- 
ceived, and  the  average  grant  made  was 
$127.  Most  of  these  were  from  people 
over  sixty  years  of  age,  about  sixty  per 
cent  of  whom  enjoyed  good  health,  and 
could  be  rehabilitated  in  a  small  way  in 
order  to  become  self-supporting.  (Less 
than  three  per  cent  were  sent  to  Ingleside 
to  be  cared  for.) 

Homes  for  the  homeless  or  unsupported 
children  were  found  with  families — some- 
times relatives,  on  payment  of  a  small 
sum  per  month  for  support — the  grant 
usually  placed  in  trust  with  the  Asso- 


LOBOS  SQUARE   CAMP. 


or  five  hours,  in  line  waiting  a  second 
time  for  conscience  sake. 

This  section  supplied  aid  in  case  of  ill- 
ness or  emergency,  when  the  relief  re- 
quired a  grant  of  money  instead  of  cloth- 
ing or  groceries. 

During  the  "emergency  period"  $166,- 
831.02  was  disbursed,  including  freight, 
under  "Transportation,"  and  but 
$4,639.51  under  the  regular  administra- 
tion. 

The  section  on  aged  and  infirm,  unsup- 
ported children  and  friendless  girls,  Dr. 


ciated  Charities.  Friendless  girls  re- 
ceived assistance  by  providing  them  with 
grants  for  clothing  to  equip  themselves 
suitably  for  positions.  Some  were  aided 
with  money  to  complete  their  education  as 
bookkeepers,  stenographers  and  training 
for  nurses.  Many  elderly  people  were 
made  comfortable  by  granting  furniture 
and  necessities  during  the  winter  months, 
until  their  condition  improved — such  as 
those  who  owned  their  homes,  and  previ- 
ous to  the  disaster  had  small  incomes  from 
rentals,  most  of  which  was  lost  in  the  fire. 


SPENDING  $9,181,403.23. 


21' 


Under  the  section  on  "unsupported  and 
partially  supported  families,"  many  were 
the  pathetic  tales  poured  into  the  ears  of 
Mrs.  Merrill  and  Mrs.  Scott,  and  not  once 
did  these  women  of  character  cease  to 
listen  to  the  cry  of  "make  me  glad  again." 
Tales  of  a  woman's  hands  tied  by  care 
of  large  families,  with  sick,  dissipated  or 
deserting  husbands — cases  of  patient  wait- 
ing and  of  suffering,  calling  not  only  on 
the  committee's  sympathy,  but  executive 
ability  to  plan  a  practical  solution  of 
pressing  needs.  Each  and  every  one  was 
met  with  listening  ears  and  helping  hands 
irrespective  of  color,  race  or  religion.  The 
sad  case  of  a  handsome  young  woman  (of 
the  half-world)  who  was  given  a  grant 
for  medical  treatment  at  a  hospital,  where 
after  the  operation  she  died  of  heart  fail- 
ure. The  funeral  expenses  and  hospital 
hills  were  paid  and  her  personal  effects 
sent  to  her  mother. 

The  amusing  and  pathetic  case  of  a 
Swedish  widow,  whose  song  had  built  a 
neat  three  room  cottage,  only  to  find  that 
they  had  placed  it  upon  the  lot  next  their 
own.  The  small  wages  earned  by  the 
sons  was  scarcely  sufficient  for  the  in- 
stallments on  their  lot  and  their  frugal 
meals.  A  grant  for  furniture,  clothing 
and  the  moving  of  their  house  was  given 
them. 

A  refined  old  colored  woman  and  daugh- 
ter were  found  living  in  a  shack  made 
from  waste  lumber  and  boxes:  the  roof 
tipped  to  one  side  so  they  could  not  stand 
erect.  They  were  sleeping  on  wooden 
bunks  with  insufficient  covering,  and  with 
a  broken  camp  stove  to  cook  upon.  The 
mother  suffered  from  cataract  in  both 
eyes.  The  grant  supplied  the  necessary 
needs  of  clothing  and  furniture  and 
patched  up  their  house. 

The  Confidential  Section,  Archdeacon 
Emery,  chairman,  expended  about  $150,- 
000.  This  work  reached  cases  only  to  be 
discovered  through  a  parish  priest,  minis- 
ter or  a  family  physician.  The  tuition  for 
the  six  remaining  months  of  a  senior  year 
was  paid -for  a  young  Calif  ornian  taking 
an  M.  D.  in  an  Eastern  college;  also  for 
an  expert  librarian. 

Another  case  provided  special  treatment 
until  cured  to  a  young  lady  afflicted  with 
melancholia  and  confined  in  a  public 
ward  of  an  asylum  in  a  foreign  country, 


to  which  city  the  mother  and  daughter 
had  sought  refuge  with  relatives  after  the 
fire.  Money  was  sent  to  a  private  charity 
which  cared  for  poor  children,  convales- 
cent from  typhoid  fever,  and  insure  for 
them  rest,  fresh  air  and  proper  nourish- 
ment through  the  summer.  Relief  was 
given  an  aged  scientist  whose  collection 
was  burned,  and  his  only  means  of  a  live- 
lihood taken  from  him.'  Professors,  den- 
tists, lawyers  and  physicians  were  assisted 
to  purchase  libraries  and  instruments. 

The  section  on  Housing  and  Shelter, 
.Reverend  Father  D.  0.  Crowley,  chair- 
man, have  nearly  completed  1400  houses 
at  an  expense  to  the  corporation  of  $600,- 
000,  the  other  half  of  the  expense  being 
paid  by  the  owners. 

Never  before  in  the  history  of  San 
Francisco  have  so  many  of  the  working 
classes  owned  their  homes.  They  are 
scattered  all  over  the  city  limits,  from 
Telegraph  Hill  to  Ocean  View,  and  from 
the  Richmond  District  to  the  Potrero. 
The  committee  did  not  limit  the  cottages 
to  the  burned  district,  and  this  wide  scat- 
tering will  for  generations  to  come  pre- 
vent the  former  congested  districts  where 
the  families  of  the  "great  unwashed" 
lacked  living  space  and  "soul  space." 

Many  of  the  hard-working  laborers  with 
families  of  five  to  eight  children  are  liv- 
ing at  .present  in  comfortable  homes  of 
three,  five  and  six  rooms  with  bath.  For- 
merly they  occupied  one  or  possibly  two 
rooms,  either  in  basements  or  at  the  rear 
of  their  small  shops.  Their  children  now 
play  among  the  sand  hills  or  grass  and 
flowers,  in  the  pure,  clean  air,  where  pre- 
viously these  poor  little  wharf-rats  played 
in  the  dark  alleys  or  cold  cellars.  Some 
of  these  modest  homes  have  already  pretty 
gardens  of  vegetables  and  flowers  started 
by  the  children,  while  the  bread-winners 
are  at  work,  for  there  will  be  no  lack  of 
employment  of  unskilled  labor  for  many 
years. 

Mark  Twain  has  wisely  said,  "No  man 
shoiilders  a  gun  to  fight  for  a  boarding 
house." 

About  one  thousand  six  hundred  appli- 
cations were  adjusted  for  business  re- 
habilitation, the  appropriation  $500,000. 
Charles  F.  Leege,  chairman.  Grants  were 
made  for  the  purpose  of  rehabilitating 
numerous  boarding  and  lodging  houses. 


JEFFERSON    SQUARE   CAMP. 


metal  and  marble  works,  restaurants,  deli- 
catessen stores,  wicker  works,  a  tamale 
restaurant,  patent  medicines,  laundries,  a 
church  supply  store,  a  phonograph  store, 
horses  and  wagons  for  junk  peddlers,  gro- 
ceries, butcher  shops,  a  sausage  and  pickle 
factory,  florist,  an  artificial  flower  shop, 
one  application  for  a  washing  machine 
was  granted,  Christmas  tree  venders,  an- 
tique furniture  stores,  fish-nets  and  vats 
supplied;  one  woman  started  in  the  real 
estate  business;  bake  shops,  one  years'  in- 
stallment on  pianos  for  music  teachers 
paid;  a  dog  and  bird  store,  instruments 
for  physicians  and  dentists  and  a  cosmetic 
shop.  Among  the  applications  came  one 
to  establish  a  "hair-restorer  business,"  the 
applicant  even  offering  "to  try  it  on"  the 
bald-headed  investigator.  History  does 
not  record  the  result. 

One  street  sweeper  wanted  to  become 
a  scavenger,  and  his  ambition  was  grati- 
fied. Do  not  let  me  forget  the  Chinaman 
who  was  re-established  as  a  cigar  manu- 
facturer, to  the  amount  of  $250;  nor  the 
reteran  of  the  civil  war,  who  was  given 
tools  for  a  small  carpenter  shop — as  he 
was  too  old  to  compete  with  younger  car- 
penters. 

About  three  thousand  applications  for 


furniture  were  received,  and  the  average 
grant  made  was  $100. 

The  committee,  believing  that  general 
relief  was  no  longer  needed,  the  taking  of 
applications  was  ended  on  February  15, 
1907,  except  in  cases  of  dire  want,  and  on 
March  15th,  the  Application  Bureau  was 
closed,  and  the  Bureau  of  Special  Relief 
attended  to  all  emergency  claims.  By 
July  1st,  all  cases  were  adjusted,  and  ac- 
tive work  stopped,  the  committee  leaving 
any  further  relief  to  the  regular  chari- 
table societies,  and  for  whom  there  will  be 
work  for  many  months.  Even  the  Hous- 
ing Committee  is  winding  up  its  affairs. 

The  Bureau  of  Hospitals  supplied  care 
to  three  thousand  five  hundred  and  sev- 
enty-one patients,  for  the  total  expense  of 
$167,229.10,  from  April  18,  1906,  to  July 
1,  1907,  which  includes  the  cost  of  sup- 
plies given  during  the  emergency  period 
to  hospitals  as  part  payment  for  medical 
service  rendered. 

The  payment  of  $2  a  day  per  patient 
to  the  seven  accredited  hospitals  was  of 
great  assistance  to  these  institutions,  and 
helped  them  to  meet  expenses.  At  pres- 
ent there  are  about  200  patients  in  the 
hospitals,  at  the  expense  of  the  relief 
fund.  The  care  of  patients  in  hospitals 


SPENDING  $9,181,403.23. 


219 


at  the  expense  of  the  fund  must  of  neces- 
sity be  continued  as  long  as  the  permanent 
camps  are  maintained,  to  avoid  the  spread 
of  contagious  diseases  and  because  the 
camp  cottages  do  not  afford  sufficient  room 
for  the  sick  ones.  The  general  health  of 
the  laboring  classes  has  been  greatly  im- 
proved by  the  outdoor  life. 

The  Bureau  of  Special  Belief  opened 
August  15,  1906,  and  have  disbursed  since 
then  $58,330.30  to  eight  hundred  families 
in  distress,  for  clothing,  fuel,  food,  medi- 
cine and  repairing  shelters:  also  the  ap- 
plications for  sewing  machines  were  in- 
vestigated, and  one  thousand  six  hundred 
machines,  at  an  expense  of  $36,000,  were 
quickly  distributed. 

The  Bureau  of  Industrial  Centers 
comprised  many  sewing  centers, 
where  over  seventy-five  thousand  gar- 
ments were  made,  mostly  by  volunteer 
workers.  Several  cutters  were  in  paid  em- 
ploy. This  bureau  had  charge  of  all  the 
social  halls  in  the  camps,  and  superin- 
tended the  kindergartens  in  the  camps  in 
the  mornings,  the  sewing  classes  in  the 
afternoons,  and  arranged  for  lectures,  con- 
certs and  various  entertainments  given  for 
the  camp  refugees  in  the  evenings. 

The  social  halls  served  alike  for  club 
and  reading  room,  and  were  used  im- 
partially for  divine  service  by  all  de- 
nominations. The  kindergartens  and  sew- 
ing classes  for  the  camp  children  were  a 
great  factor  for  discipline  during  the  ab- 
sence of  the  parents  at  work,  keeping  the 
little  ones  busy  and  out  of  mischief. 
Amount,  $35,902.52. 

The  Department  of  Finance,  James  D. 
Phelan,  chairman,  and  William  Dolge, 
auditor,  was  the  machinery  and  backbone 
of  the  corporation.  The  receipt  and  col- 
lection of  all  the  relief  moneys,  and  the 
filing  of  numerous  letters  demanded  ex- 
pediency and  accuracy. 

Among  the  letters  is  one  filed  from  a 
sympathetic  citizen  of  the  South,  enclos- 
ing seven  cents  and  stating  that  this  spe- 
cial donation  would  have  been  larger  but 
for  the  fact  that  two  weeks  previous  to  the 
disaster  he  had  taken  unto  himself  a  wife, 
(an  expensive  proposition.) 

While  this  subscription  was  small,  it 
was  not  without  its  "strings"  also,  to 
quote  "for  a  poor  widow  with  three  child- 
ren, the  oldest  three  years  of  age/'  Messrs. 


Lester  Herrick  &  Herrick,  Certified  Pub- 
lic Accountants,  maintained  a  continuous 
audit.  The  expense  of  this  department 
was  $63,421.43. 

It  is  not  without  interest  .to  notice  that 
the  entire  cost  of  administration  has  been 
less  than  four  per  cent — a  fact  that 
speaks  for  itself. 

The  Department  of  Bills  and  Demands, 
M.  H.  de  Young  chairman,  adjusted 
nearly  eleven  thousand  claims,  amounting 
to  $2,717,170.33  for  the  sum  of  $1,501,- 
781.52  for  relief  supplies  confiscated  by 
the  authorities  during  the  emergency  per- 
iod, and  for  the  expense  of  feeding,  shel- 
tering and  transporting  the  refugees,  as 
well  as  the  expense  for  sanitation  and  re- 
storation of  the  water  supply. 

A  few  more  figures  are  of  interest  by 
contrast:  The  relief  of  the  hungry  during 
the  emergencv  period  following  the  dis- 
aster for  three  weeks,  cost  $729,752.39, 
while  under  the  regular  regime  the  maxi- 
mum cost  for  four  weeks  (July)  was  $75,- 
756.30.  Again,  under  the  emergency,  tha 
relief  of  the  sick  and  wounded,  and  for 
transporting  them  to  hospitals,  cost  $46,- 
088.43,  but  during  the  typhoid  epidemic 
in  September  only  $17,335  was  used  for 
this  purpose.  Clothing  (emergency)  and 
boots  and  shoes,  cost  $29,272.55;  while 
only  $2,500  a  month  for  clothes  for  the 
Ingleside  refugees  was  spent  under  the 
corporation's  rule.  The  amount  of  $23,- 
033.36  was  used  for  the  reorganization  of 
the  city,  a  small  sum  after  so  great  a  dis- 
aster. 

The  relief  and  Rehabilitation  of  Hospi- 
tals and  Charitable  Institutions  cost 
$355,798.05. 

The  merging  of  the  relief  funds  with 
those  of  the  National  Eed  Cross  was  a 
most  wise  decision,  in  light  of  the  recent 
municipal  graft  exposures,  for  it  is  cer- 
tain that  the  money  was  used  to  the  best 
advantage,  absolutely  irrespective  of  re- 
ligious denominations.  Of  the  members 
of  the  San  Francisco  Committee  from  Mr. 
Phelan  down,  it  must  be  said  that  the 
selection  could  not  have  been  improved 
upon,  for  they  are  men  of  ability  and  in- 
tegrity. This  committee  came  together, 
forgetting  their  own  individuality  and 
personality,  in  a  humane  interest  for  the 
relief  of  the  needy  and  civic  pride  in  the 
betterment  of  their  city  and  the  relief 


220 


OVEBLAND  MONTHLY. 


policies  adopted,  proved  a  test  of  these 
men.  The  committee  and  employees  went 
right  into  the  homes  of  the  poor  people  as 
well  as  those  of  better  circumstances,  and 
worked,  and  accomplished  a  great  amount 
of  good  without  the  hlare  of  trumpets. 

"The  good  men  do  lives  after  them.*' 
Let  this  be  the  monument  to  the  Eelief 
Fund  Committee. 

Their  motive  was  protection  of  the  poor, 
not  patronage,  for  relief  is  indemnity,  not 
charity.  The  plans  to  devise,  methods  to 
employ  and  difficulties  to  overcome,  often 
seemed  as  difficult  problems  as  the  "squar- 


were,  of  course,  some  mal-contents,  who 
wanted  to  get  something  for  nothing 
whether  they  were  in  need  or  not.  It  was 
mainly  on  this  account  that  the  committee 
made  every  effort  to  close  their  work  as 
soon  as  possible. 

Of  the  four  thousand  nine  hundred  and 
seventeen  subscriptions  recorded,  there  is 
still  about  one  million  dollars  outstanding, 
of  which  $700,000  is  held  by  the  American 
National  Eed  Cross,  all  of  which  money  is 
needed  for  the  closing  of  relief  affair^  On 
account  of  the  removing  of  all  the  refugee 
camps,  there  is  some  chance  that  ma$y 


A    COTTAGE   BEING    MOVED. 


ing  of  a  circle,"  and  have  shown  a  blend- 
ing of  love  and  law.  Mr.  Phelan  and  the 
committee  proved  that  a  wise  and  careful 
administration  of  relief  should  be  a  part 
of  good  government. 

The  amount  of  red  tape  in  some  in- 
stances was  slow,  but  was  probably  un- 
avoidable. One  claimant  remarked  that 
"she  earned  her  grant  through  time  lost 
before  getting  it." 

One  great  difficulty  was  discriminating 
among  applicants  who  were  not  actually 
destitute,  and  where  investigation  and  re- 
fusal caused  much  complaint.  There 


individuals  will  remain  in  need  for  some 
months  yet  to  come,  and  in  case  the  camps 
are  not  successfully  moved  within  a  few 
months  the  committee  feels  that  the  $700,- 
000  will  be  needed  to  relieve  those  still 
in  distress. 

For  generations  to  come,  the  blessings 
of  the  people  of  San  Francisco  will  rest 
upon  the  heads  of  the  donors  of  the  re- 
lief fund,  whose  generosity  has  helped 
them  toward  faith  in  their  city,  hope  for 
their  prosperity,  and  charity  for  their 
losses  and  mistakes.  "But  the  greatest  of 
these  is  charity." 


CLIMI 


. 
ANOTE 

PHOTOGRAr 


HE     MOUNTAIN 

stands  alone,  majes- 
tic and  beautiful, 
dominating  land  and 
sea.  In  summer  it  is 
veiled  in  a  thin  blue 
haze,  and  in  winter  it 
rises  snow-covered  and 
clear-cut  against  the  sky.  The  Japanese 
love  Fuji;  the  common  coolie  has  its  out- 
line stamped  on  the  towel  that  he  wears 
twisted  about  his  head;  it  is  painted  on 
tea  cups  to  sell  to  foreigners ;  it  is  painted 
on  the  walls  of  the  Kyoto  palaces;  it  was 
the  favorite  subject  of  Hokusai,  the  mas- 
ter, and  about  it  have  grown  myths,  fairy 
tales  and  poems  until  the  mountain  is 
sacred  to  the  people  of  Japan.  We  for- 
eigners share  in  some  degree  the  feeling 
of  the  Japanese,  and,  here  on  the  Bluff, 
we  climb  to  our  attic  window,  sure  of  an 
inspiring  view  when  a  chill  wind  blows 
on  a  winter's  morning,  or  when  the  sky  is 


-^^      -3.U-L.tlUK. 

red  at  sunset.  A  favorite  way  from  the 
Bluff  to  the  Settlement  takes  us  past  the 
historic  tea  house  of  0-kin-san,  down  the 
101  steps.  Here  a  carpenter's  apprentice 
may  be  coming  up  and  a  house  coolie  go- 
ing down,  but  we  all  pause  and  stand  to- 
gether at  the  half-way  place  to  gaze  at 
the  "Honorable  Mountain."  When  we 
meet  our  friends,  it  is  often  "Good  morn- 
ing! Isn't  it  a  fine  day?  Fuji  is  glori- 
ous." Only  during  the  nyubai — that  in- 
cessant warm  June  rain  which  makes  the 
rice  grow — do  we  feel  certain  that  all 
looking  is  useless,  that  Fuji  is  hid  behind 
a  curtain  of  gray  mist. 

So  the  mountain  on  the  horizon  made  a 
part  of  our  lives  each  bright  day  until  a 
friend  said :  "Would  you  like  to  climb 
Fuji?"  Then  we  remembered  a  man  who 
had  refused  to  make  the  ascent,  saying 
he  feared  to  lose  his  respect  for  the  moun- 
tain; we  remembered  tales  of  exhausted 
people  being  pulled  to  the  summit  by 


coolies,  tales  of  people,  snow-bound  in  the 
huts,  who  never  reached  the. top,  and  tales 
of  pilgrims  blown  off  the  slope  by  the 
wind  and  dashed  to  pieces;  nevertheless, 
we  made  the  ascent  in  August  of  last  year 
and  all  this  winter,  when  we  have  seen 
Fuji  from  the  attic  windows  or  from  the 
101  steps,  we  have  recognized,  in  spite  of 
the  chill  wintry  aloofness,  a  much  loved 
friend  whom  we  would  like  to  visit  again. 

In  the  middle  of  July,  when  the  snow 
is  quite  gone,  the  huts  are  opened  on  the 
mountain  side,  and  they  remain  open  un- 
til the  middle  of  September.  We  planned 
to  go  on  the  25th  of  August,  and  forthwith 
began  taking  long  country  tramps,  that 
our  flesh  might  be  willing,  and  began 
reading  what  we  could  find  about  Fuji 
that  our  spirits,  too,  might  be  prepared 
for  the  climb. 

First,  there  were  facts  to  learn.  Fuji 
is  12,365  feet  high,  a  volcano,  not  active, 
yet  not  extinct,  for  steam  still  comes  out  of 
holes  near  the  crater,  although  the  last 
eruption  was  in  1707-8.  A  hump  was 
formed  then  on  the  south  side,  the  one 
break  in  the  otherwise  perfect  symmetrv 
of  the  mountain,  and  showers  of  ashes 
covered  the  country  for  miles  around. 


MONTHLY. 

There  are  several  paths  for  ascending,  each 
divided  into  ten  stations  where  one  may 
stop  for  food  or  to  spend  the  night.  In 
the  old  days,  women  were  not  allowed  to 
climb  beyond  the  eighth  station  of  a  sa- 
cred mountain,  and  the  first  woman  to 
reach  the  summit  of  Fuji  was  Lady 
Parkes,  the  wife  of  the  British  Minister 
to  Japan.  She  made  the  ascent  in  the  au- 
tumn of  1867. 

Having  learned  these  few  facts,  there 
were  myths  that  delighted  our  legend- 
loving  souls.  Near  Kyoto,  where  Lake 
Biwa  is  in  these  days  of  1907,  there  used 
to  be  many  hills  grouped  together.  One 
night  there  was  a  fearful  rumbling  and 
the  morning  light  showed  a  lovely  lake 
where  the  hills  had  stood.  News  came 
in  a  few  days — it  traveled  slowly  on  foot 
along  the  Tokaido  then — that  a  beautiful 
mountain  had  sprung  up  that  same  night 
I  miles  and  miles  away  from  Kyoto,  near 
.  the  shores  of  Sufuga  Bay.  All  the  little 
hills  had  hurried  by  subterranean  ways 
and  bursting  forth  had  formed  Fuji.  The 
mountain  remains  symmetrical  because 
the  stones  and  scoriae  that  are  brought 
down  by  the  pilgrims'  feet  as  they  descend 
all  creep  upwards  of  themselves  by  night, 
On  the  summit,  to  this  day,  lives  a  Shinto 


NEAR  ONE  OF  THE  LOWER  STATIONS. 


CLJ 


goddess,  whom  the  Japanese  call:  ' 
Princess  who  makes  the  Blossoms  oJ 
Trees  to  Flower."  I  think  myself 
she  is  the  very  same  goddess  whom 
poets  love  and  our  artists  paint,  onlj 
call  her  spring. 

On  the  24th  of  August  such  a  typl 
raged  that  we  sat  looking  at  our  s 
skirts,  our  big  hats  and  leggins  and  s 
American     boots     with     dismay.      I 
seemed  absolutely  unattainable.     But 
25th  was  clear  and  bright,  and  we  1 
the  train  for  Gotemba,  picking  up  m 
bers  of  our  party  at  Oiso  and  Kodzu.  ' 
had  made  the  ascent  the  year  before, 
their  pilgrims'  staffs  bearing  the  stamp 
the   different  stations  drew  murmurs 
admiration  from  Japanese  passengers, 
was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  we  reac 
Gotemba.     The  first  sight  to  greet 
eyes  as  we  left  the  station  for  the  tea  he 
near  by  was  a  throng  of  pilgrims,  com 
down  the  street,  real  religious  pilgri 
in  white,  with  rosaries  about  their  nei 
straw  mats  hanging  from  their  should 
great  round  hats  on  their  heads  and  st 
in  their  hands.    After  tea  a  little  tram 
drawn  by  one  poor  mountain  horse  A 
hired,   and  we   started   for   Subashiri,     • 
town  some  miles  away  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountain.       We    went    with    a    clatter 
through  the  long  street  of     the     village, 
catching  glimpses  now  and  then  of  rooms 
heaped  with  cocoons  before  we  got  out 
into  the  country  among     the     mulberry 
trees  and  paddies  where  the  early  rice  was 
headed,  and  finally  out  on  a  grassy  moor 
dotted  with  lavender  scabious  and  white 
clematis  and  other  late  summer  flowers. 
Back  of  us  stood  the  Hakone  mountains; 
on  our  right  were  the  mountains  of  the 
Oyama  Kange,  and  to  our  left  was  Fuji, 
cut  by  a  long  line  of  white  cloud,  a  some- 
what ghost-like   Fuji   in   a   hazy   atmos- 
phere all  its  own.     The  surrounding  haze 
seemed  to  separate  the  mountain  from  the 
rest  of  the  world ;  we  felt  that  we  were  get- 
ting no  nearer  and  that  Fuji  was  shrink- 
ing from  us.     Occasionally  our  conductor 
wound  a   pewter  horn,  an  answer  came 
from  across  the  moor  and  we  waited  on  a 
side  track  while  another  little  tram-car, 
filled  with  returning  pilgrims,  went  rat- 
tling by. 

It  was  dark  when  we  reached  Subashiri 
and  found  our  rooms  at  the  Yoneyama — 


carrying  our  wraps  and  bags  to  an  upper 
room.  We  dined  in  state  on  cold  roast 
chicken  and  other  home  foods,  for  while 
a  Japanese  meal  can  carry  a  Japanese  sol- 
dier for  many  hours  on  a  campaign,  it 
cannot  carry  a  foreigner  up  Fuji.  Japan- 
ese food  has  a  way  of  filling  a  foreigner's 
stomach,  while  it  leaves  his  mouth  still 
hungry  for  more.  Then  to  a  wing  of  the 
house  we  three  women  folk  went,  climb- 
ing up  a  steep,  winding  .stair  by  the  light 
of  a  quaint  old  lamp,  held  by  a  giggling 
neisan.  Then  when  the  neisan  had  bowed 
herself  away,  wishing  us  good-night,  we 
saw  our  three  little  beds  in  a  row  on  the 
floor,  while  all  about  the  room  the  shoji 
and  amado  were  shot  tight,  in  true  Jap- 
anese fashion,  lest  a  breath  of  air  should 
reach  the  honorable  foreigners.  We  slipped 
the  amado  back  and  stood  looking  out  into 
the  night;  the  moon  and  stars  were  shin- 
ing down  on  Fuji,  and  Fuji,  wrapped  in 
a  silver  veil,  was  beautiful,  majestic  be- 
yond words,  but  unsubstantial  as  a  dream, 
a  veritable  ghost  mountain. 

At  three  we  arose,  and  at  4.30  left  the 
"Hoteru  Yoneyama."    Lamps  were  burn- 


MONTHLY. 


green  slopes  with  the  dark  green  of  the 
forest  below.  We  could  see  flags  -flying 
and  three  stations  on  the  slope.  Then 
sunlight  struck  the  summit,  and  turning 
in  our  saddles  we  saw  that  the  sun  was  up, 
a  red  ball,  above  the  Eastern  hills. 

So  we  came  to  Umagaeshi — "horse  send 
back" — where  we  were  supposed  to  dis- 
mount and  send  away  our  ponies.  Every 
way  up,  Fuji  has  its  Umagaeshi.  This 
one  was  a  big  open  shed,  with  benches, 
tables,  and,  wonder  of  wonders,  table 
cloths  of  thin  muslin.  Fluttering  from 
the  roof  were  hundreds  of  bright  colored 


FROM   A   PHI  NT  BY  HOKUSAI.        ONE  OF  THE  THIRTY-SIX  VIEWS  OF   1  I  .1'. 


traiuv  to  a  temple  in  the  outskirts.  Low 
bushes  and  trees  by  the  roadside  grew  more 
distinct  as  the  light  grew  brighter  and 
the  mountain  as  we  approached  seemed  to 
grow  always  flatter  and  smaller  until  it 
looked  a  mere  hill  tr  be  overcome  in  per- 
haps an  hour.  Back  of  us,  between  Su- 
bashiri  and  the  Oyama  Range  white  clouds 
lay  like  the  waves  of  the  sea,  and  the  sun- 
rise glow  was  red  above  the  hills.  Ahead 
of  us  Fuji  changed  from  red  to  purple, 
then  red  with  purple  shadows  and  bright 


pieces  of  cotton  towels  printed  especially 
for  the  Fuji  pilgrims  and  left  by  them  as 
business  cards  are  left.  Or  these  towels 
are  often  the  cards  of  some  association. 
Many  villages  have  pilgrims'  societies,  to 
whirl)  each  member  contributes  a  sen  a 
month.  Then  lots  are  cast,  and  the  fortu- 
nate go  on  the  pilgrimage,  led  by  some 
one  who  lias  l>een  before,  who  tells  the 
stories  of  sacred  spots  and  escorts  his  fol- 
lowers to  the  inn  most  favored  by  his  as- 
sociation. A  short  distance  back  of  the 


226 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


tea  shed  stood  a  torii,  marking  the  be- 
ginning of  the  ascent  and  framing  a  view 
of  the  sacred  mountain  peak  beyond.  Then 
we  plunged  into  a  forest  of  evergreens  and 
larches,  with  other  trees  growing  from  a 
carpet  of  fern  and  grass  and  strange  flow- 
ers. At  a  small  tea  shed  we  left  our  horses 
and  the  walk  up  the  mountain  began. 

Presently  we  came  to  a  little  temple 
place  with  a  font  where  pilgrims  washed 
their  hands  and  left  cash  and  prayed  for 
fair  weather.  Here,  too,  were  towels  for 
sale,  neatly  folded  to  tie  about  one's  fore- 
head, and  the  keeper  of  the  shrine  pressed 
them  upon  us,  predicting  headaches  when 
we  reached  the  summit. 

Next  we  came  to  another  shrine,  a  sort 
of  shrine  and  shop  combined,  for  here  we 
bought  our  staffs  of  white  wood  and  had 
them  stamped  with  a  hot  iron  by  a  priest 
who  sat  enthroned  before  a  shrine  where 
the  sacred  Shinto  mirror  and  paper  strips 
were  hanging. 

Each  tea  shed,  we  thought  (and  there 
were  several  at  convenient  intervals 
through  the  forest)  must  be  the  first  sta- 
tion, for  the  way  was  steep,  and  we  had 
climbed  long.  At  last  as  we  left  the  wood 
and  came  out  on  a  slope  of  bare  black 
lava.  "Here  is  the  first  station,"  our  guide 
said.  There  it  had  been,  and  there  to  the 
Japanese  mind  it  still  was,  though  to  our 
foreign  eyes  not  a  stick  nor  stone  of  it  re- 
mained. Then  the  toil  began;  slow  climb- 
ing on  a  path  of  cinders  and  scoriae  for 
an  hour  until  we  saw  far  above  us  the 
rounding  shoulder  of  the  mountain  and 
came  to  the  second  station.  Such  a 
primitive  hut  it  was,  with  a  low  lava  wall 
before  it,  the  hut's  walls  of  lava,  too,  with 
a  shingle  roof  held  down  by  lava.  Japan- 
ese tea,  bovril  with  pea  soup  and  crackers, 
cheered  us  on  to  the  third  station,  and  so 
we  climbed  ever  steadily  and  slowly  up- 
ward through  scant  shrubs  and  hardy 
flowers.  At  station  4%  we  lingered  only 
a  few  minutes,  for  the  white  flags  of  the 
sixth  station  seemed  just  above  us  hurry- 
ing us  on.  We  were  an  hour  climbing  up 
the  steep  slopes  of  grey  and  red  scoriae  and 
ashes  before  we  reached  that  station.  The 
sixth  is  one  of  the  largest  and  best  built 
of  lava,  as  are  the  others,  with  a  high  lava 
wall  in  front;  but  the  room  is  bigger.  In 
the  corner  on  the  floor  were  piles  of  quilts 
and  round  pillows,  and  up  in  the  rafters 


were  a  few  of  the  high  wooden  rests  that 
Japanese  ladies  use  for  the  backs  of  their 
heads,  that  their  hair,  dressed  for  several 
days,  may  not  become  untidy  while  they 
sleep.  There  are  no  chimneys  in  the  huts, 
and  the  smoke  of  the  charcoal  fires  is  al- 
lowed to  wander  about  choosing  its  own 
outlet.  They  brought  us  cushions  and  a 
low  Japanese  table,  and  we  dined  from 
the  box  of  provisions  that  one  of  our 
coolies  carried.  Some  students  were  hav- 
ing dinner,  and  so  were  two  young  girls. 
The  girls  interested  us ;  they  seemed  about 
twelve  and  fourteen,  very  young  to  be 
alone  climbing  Fuji,  and  they  were  very 
pretty,  with  their  rosy,  smiling  faces  and 
picturesque  dress.  Their  blue  and  white 
cotton  kimonos  were  tucked  up  in  their 
obis,  showing  bright  red  petticoats;  they 
had  towels  bound  about  their  heads  with 
straw  hats  tied  over  them,  framing  the 
fresh,  young  faces;  they  wore  leggins  and 
waraji  (straw  sandals),  carried  staffs, 
and  had  bundles  tied  to  their  shoulders  all 
in  orthodox  pilgrim  style.  Dinner  finished, 
we  saw  a  peasant  pilgrim  buy  some  brown 
roots  to  rub  on  his  blisters,  then  stood 
gazing  in  amazement  at  the  great  heap  of 
worn-out  waraji  outside  the  door.  Our 
coolies  bound  waraji  over  our  boots,  and 
we  started  on  again. 

Here  there  was  no  path;  one  coolie  led 
and  we  followed  wherever  we  could  gain 
a  foothold  on  the  surface  of  a  grey  lava 
stream.  To  our  right  was  a  slope  of  red 
scoriae ;  to  our  left  pilgrims  went  running 
and  leaping  down  a  zigzag  path  of  loose 
cinders;  far  above  us  were  other  pilgrims, 
mere  white  specks  in  the  distance;  below 
us  we  could  see  little,  for  the  day  was 
cool,  and  clouds  and  mist  advanced  with 
us  up  the  mountain  side.  It  was  hard 
climbing  then  for  two  hours  without  a 
stop,  for  there  was  no  seventh  station,  only 
an  abandoned  hut  at  7^,  and  it  was  a 
weary  stretch  to  the  eighth.  Here  was  a 
post-office,  a  tiny  little  place  built  in  the 
mountain  side,  where  a  thriving  business 
was  done.  Another  path  comes  in  here, 
and  as  we  started  on  again  chanting  the 
pilgrims'  song,  "I  am  not  tired;  all  is 
well,"  a  party  of  people  coming  up  from 
Yoshida,  some  young  men,  a  woman  of 
middle  age  and  an  old  man,  joined  in  the 
song  and  passed  us.  Before  we  reached 
the  ninth  station  every  one  of  us  saw  that 


PILGRIMS    RESTING. 


228 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


the  other  members  of  the  party  had  lost 
their  natural  color  and  looked  pale  and 
yellow.  It  was  a  trick  of  the  altitude,  our 
leader  told  us.  So  leaning  on  our  staffs 
and  going  always  slowly,  we  reached  the 
summit  at  3.30  in  the  afternoon.  Few 
go  so  slowly,  but  few  perhaps  arrive  at 
the  top  so  fresh.  1  have  walked  a  mile  and 
felt  more  tired  than  I  felt  then.  We  were 
wisely  led,  and  there  was  none  of  the  wind 
that  often  forces  travelers  to  give  up  the 
ascent  and  put  back. 

At  the  summit,  we  chose  one  of  a  row 
of  primitive  huts  to  spend  the  night  in, 
put  on  our  heavy  coats — for  the  ther- 


to  tumble  them  over;  then  the  children 
cry  and  begin  again.  In  the  world  below 
only  Jizo  helps  them,  and  on  this  earth 
only  the  pious  who  heap  stones  here  to 
save  the  baby  hands  some  labor  in  Pur- 
gatory. "We  came  to  holes  where  hot 
streams  come  out.  The  mountain  is  not 
dead:  perhaps  it  is  only  sleeping.  Not 
far  away  on  the  edge  of  the  crater  was  a 
torii,  with  a  Shinto  mirror  and  a  cash 
box  dedicated  to  the  goddess  of  the  moun- 
tain. There  was  a  good  view  into  the 
crater,  which  sloped  down  steeply  some 
400  feet  with  rock  walls  and  one  long 
drift  of  snow.  At  the  "Silver  Well"  were 


THE   TEMPLE   AND   INN   AT   THE    TOP    OF    THE  GOTEMBA  ASCENT. 
BACK   OF  THEM  IS  THE   CRATER  EDGE. 


mometer  was  near  freezing — and  set  out  to 
walk  around  the  crater.  Through  the 
clouds  far  below  us  we  caught  glimpses  of 
the  outlying  slopes  of  the  mountain,  the 
chain  of  lakes  about  its  base,  and  the  far- 
distant  Tokio  Bay.  We  came  to  a  spot 
sacred  to  Jizo,  the  compassionate,  the  god 
of  travelers  and  little  children,  and  we 
added  some  to  the  heaps  of  stones  that 
marked  the  place.  The  Japanese  believe 
that  the  poor  dead  children  are  condemned 
to  pile  stones  in  the  dry  bed  of  a  river, 
and  as  the  stones  are  piled,  a  hag  comes 


bottles  of  water  which  the  pious  buy  and 
take  home  as  a  cure-all  for  their  ills.  A 
group  of  peasants  stood  about  the  well,  and 
some  distance  away  climbing  the  steep, 
red  incline  of  Kengamine,  the  highest 
point,  were  other  pilgrims  dressed  in 
white,  all  the  color  and  their  toil  making  a 
picture  like  a  Hokusai  print  come  to  life. 
A  temple  and  inn,  the  most  pretentious  on 
Fuji,  stand  at  the  top  of  the  Gotemba  as- 
cent. Quartered  here  were  some  foreign- 
ers who  had  climbed  to  the  summit  before 
sunrise,  and  got  the  glorious  view  of  the 


ci"* 


A   HUT   NEAR   THE   SUMMIT. 


230 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


country  about  that  was  denied  us. 

Yet  I  wonder  if  the  panorama  of  coun- 


far  glimpses  of  the  real  sea,  and  through 
the  cloud  sea,  sometimes  we  saw  bits  of 


try  could  have  been  more  wonderful  than  country  and  lakes  and  distant  mountain 
what  we  saw  from  Kengamine.  The  peaks.  But  for  the  most  part  we  felt 
mountain  rose  straight  like  a  volcanic  that  we  had  dropped  many  centuries  from 


SUNRISE    FROM   THE    SUMMIT. 


island  above  a  restless  sea  of  clouds,  and 
such  clouds,  luminous,  shining  with  a  lus- 
tre like  pearls,  rising  and  falling,  chang- 
ing incessantly.  Over  the  edges  we  caught 


us,  and  were  back  in  those  remote  geologi- 
cal periods  before  life  was  on  the  globe, 
before  we  human  beings  began  to  be.  The 
sun  did  not  set;  it  slipped  away  without 


CLIMBING  FUJI. 


231 


splendor.  The  air  grew  colder,  and  we 
hurried  back  around  the  crater  to  our 
primitive  rock  hut. 

That  hut!  Perhaps  our  ancestors  back 
in  the  dim  ages  would  have  found  it  their 
ideal  of  comfort,  but  for  us,  though  we 
went  to  bed  at  seven,  there  was  sleep  from 
only  one  till  four.  It  grew  so  cold  that 
the  amado  could  be  opened  a  crack;  smoke 
from  the  fine  charcoal  filled  the  room ;  at  a 
late  hour  our  coolies  had  a  meal  of  fish 
and  rice  and  tea — and  their  mothers  had 
trained  them  well,  for  they  ate  with  noisy 
politeness — while  we  wrapt  in  rugs  and 
quilts,  lying  on  the  board  floor,  remem- 
bered that  our  friends  had  warned  us 
against  fleas.  At  four — unspeakable  hour 
for  arising  from  a  spring  bed — '"we  got 
up  joyfully. 

Lines  of  pale  green  and  blue  showed 
above  the  sea  of  cloud  which  was  broken 
by  other  darker  clouds  that  looked  like 
mountain  peaks  till  the  light  grew 
stronger.  The  morning  star  faded  away, 
and  a  flush  of  red  came  in  the  sky.  Pil- 
grims hastened  past  our  hut  to  reach  a 
higher  point  to  watch  the  sunrise.  Pil- 
grims were  coming  up,  led  by  a  man  who 
had  his  head  draped  in  a  cloth  and  wore  a 
bell  that  rang  as  he  climbed.  He  was  the 
headman  of  a  village,  leading  the  lucky 
ones  of  some  association.  They  were 
chanting.  The  sun  rose,  and  all  the  pil- 
grims on  the  mountain  faced  the  East, 
clapping  their  hands  and  praying  to  be 
purified  by  the  first  rays  of  the  rising 
sun. 

Down  at  the  sixth  station,  where  we  had 
breakfast,  there  were  students,  two  sailors, 
a  coolie  with  a  load  of  charcoal,  the  two 
little  girls  whom  we  had  seen  the  day  be- 
fore, and  two  aristocratic  girls  with  their 
father,  who  wore  foreign  clothes.  Break- 
fast finished,  we  went  running  down  the 
slope  of  loose  scoriae  as  we  had  seen  others 
running  when  we  went  up.  Down  in  the 
forest  we  rested  while  the  two. girls  of  the 


red  petticoats,  there  before  us,  ate  a  meal 
of  rice  and  beans  and  pickles.  Again  at 
a  tea  shed  we  rested,  and  here  we  found 
the  little  pilgrims  again;  one  had  taken 
off  her  hat  and  leggins,  let  down  her 
kimono,  and  presented  herself  as  a  demure 
little  neisan  bringing  us  tea.  The  shed 
was  her  home,  while  her  friend  came  from 
a  village  not  far  away. 

Did  you  ever  feel  that  your  knees  had 
turned  to  blocks  of  wood  and  that  they 
were  about  to  split,  that  your  feet  below 
the  wooden  joints  were  going  of  them- 
selves, quite  regardless  of  your  will,  while 
you,  somewhere  aloft,  looked  down  at  them 
wondering  helplessly  if  they  were  going  to 
stop,  go  on  at  a  funeral  pace,  or  dance  an 
Irish  jig  in  the  pathway,  the  fact  that  you 
did  not  know  an  Irish  jig  making  no  dif- 
ference; if  your  feet  wanted  to  dance  one 
they  would?  That  is  the  feeling  two  of 
us  had :  but  much  to  our  surprise,  our  feet, 
like  trusty  servants,  carried  us  on  to  Uma- 
gaeshi.  The  horses  met  us  there,  and  it 
was  a  joy  to  climb  into  the  queer  old  high 
saddles  and  let  the  horses  walk. 

One  picture  at  Umagaeshi  remains  in 
my  mind;  an  old  white-haired  man  with 
two  younger  ones,  kneeling  in  the  torii 
facing  Fujisan.  Bowing  reverently  and 
praying,  they  did  not  heed  us  as  we  passed. 
All  their  thought  was  of  the  sacred  moun- 
tain. 

So  we  came,  weary  in  body  but  exalted 
in  spirit,  to  Subashiri  and  back  to  Yoko- 
hama. While  we  who  went  hope  that  old 
age  will  bring  no  such  pains  and  aches  to 
our  muscles  as  we  felt  the  next  few  days, 
yet  we  want  to  climb  again  for  the  view 
that  eluded  us.  As  for  us,  give  us  not 
the  artist's  snow-clad  Fuji,  Fuji  of  the 
winter,  cold  and  unapproachable,  far  away 
on  the  horizon,  but  give  us  the  summer 
time  Fuji,  known  to  the  peasant  pilgrims 
and  the  keepers  of  the  rock  huts,  and  to 
those  foreigners  who  find  a  pleasure  in 
the  life  on  the  "Honorable  Mountain." 


THE    ENDING 


BY 


JENNET    JOHNSON 


WAS  very  glad  that  the 
invitation  to  spend 
the  week-end  on 
Scott's  yacht  came 
when  it  did — very 
glad  indeed.  For  be- 
sides the  usual  pleas- 
ure of  a  cruise 
through  the  summer  waters  of  the  Sound 
in  the  "Lurline,"  I  had  a  special  reason 
just  then  for  wishing  to  get  among  a  lot 
of  gay  people,  and  I  am  sure  Helen  had 
too.  You  see,  when  a  man  has  given  up 
a  rather  cherished  plan  for  his  wife's  sake, 
and  she  has  declined  the  sacrifice  (I  don't 
like  to  use  that  word,  I'm  no  martyr  or 
model  husband,  Heaven  knows ! )  when,  I 
say,  he  has  decided  the  matter  in  the  best 
way  for  her,  it  is  not  the  pleasantest  thing 
in  the  world  to  have  his  wife  refuse  to 
accept  his  reasons,  and  finding  him  of . 
decided  mind  also,  to  go  about  with  set 
lips  and  miserable  eyes. 

You  will  grant  that  under  a  week  of 
such  circumstances  a  solitude  a  deux  is 
to  be  fled  from  at  the  earliest  opportunity. 
From  the  night,  a  week  before,  when 
Helen  had  congratulated  me  upon  being 
invited  to  be  attorney  for  the  Denver  and 
Rio  Grande,  and  I  had  briefly  told  her 
that  I  had  no  intention  of  accepting  it 
and  asking  her  to  begin  a  new  menage 
and  make  new  friends  in  the  sage-brush 
wastes  of  Arizona — from  that  very  argu- 
ment which  ended  in  my  request  that  the 
subject  should  not  be  alluded  to  again, 
life  at  home  was  a  nerve-racking  series  of 
attempts  to  be  natural. 

The  idea  of  Helen's  continued  protest- 
ing! As  if  I  hadn't  grown  up  with  her 
from  youngster-hood  and  seen  the  things 
which  her  nature  requires  just  as  the  rest 
of  us  need  air.  It  would  kill  Helen  to 
have  to  live  more  than  a  hundred  miles 
from  her  mother — she  would  lose  all  in- 
terest in  life  away  from  these  girls  and 
men  she  had  grown  up  with — and  the 
babies  to  whom  she  is  godmother  and  sil- 


ver spoon  giver.  To  say  nothing  of  leav- 
ing properly  built  and  heated  houses,  and 
the  opera  and  ocean.  Wlhy,  it  was  out  of 
the  question.  Of  course  she  would  object, 
trust  Helen  not  to  consider  herself  first — 
but  her  insistence  and  blindness  to  reason, 
to  say  nothing  of  her  final  injured  cool- 
ness— well,  as  I  said,  I  was  glad  enough 
to  get  away  to  the  gayety  of  Scott's  yacht 
for  a  breathing  space. 

Helen  didn't  bubble  over  when  I  hand- 
ed her  Scott's  note,  but  she  seemed  willing 
enough  to  go,  so  on  Friday  afternoon  I 
left  the  office  early,  met  her  at  the  Grand 
Central  at  four,  and  by  dinner  time  we 
were  at  Bridgeport  on  the  white  deck  of 
the  yacht  lying  at  anchor  off  Black  Rock. 

We  were  the  last  arrivals,  and  a  jolly 
lot  we  were  who  sipped  our  coffee  under 
the  stars  and  watched  the  great  eye  of  the 
channel  light-house  blink  and  disappear 
and  blink  again.  Scott  always  knew  the 
right  kinds  of  people  to  put  together ;  that 
is,  if  there  were  to  be  any  gunpowders  on 
board,  there  were  no  matches  invited.  On 
this  occasion  I  decided  that  we  were  large- 
ly of  the  soda  water  variety.  The  remarks 
were  all  surface  wit — you  know  the  kind 
— a  pop  and  froth  of  laughter  that  is  all 
over  in  a  minute.  Only  worth  a  nickel, 
too,  but  it  was  pleasing  and  refreshing 
somehow,  after  those  intense  days  at 
home.  Besides  it  gave  me  time,  when  it 
wasn't  my  turn  to  pop,  to  think — I  had  a 
lot  of  thinking  about  Helen  to  do.  She 
sat  over  by  the  rail  facing  me.  I  could 
only  see  her  hands  in  her  lap  and  the 
white  outline  of  her  coat  against  the  black 
sky.  She  didn't  laugh  very  much — I  won- 
dered if  she  was  thinking,  too. 

Heaven  keep  all  my  friends  from  a  diet 
of  soda-pop — especially  if  they  are  afloat 
on  the  deep,  cut  off  from  fresh  supplies! 
By  the  third  morning  we  had  all  tacitly 
admitted  our  weariness  of  that  form  of 
intellectual  nourishment — and  each  one 
of  us  had  retired  to  his  or  her  deck  chair, 


THE   ENDING. 


233 


to  try  for  a  while  "the  gentle  art  of  enjoy- 
ing oneself." 

I  smiled  as  I  noticed  the  various  forms 
the  art  was  taking.  Mrs.  Armand,  the 
plump,  vivacious  matron  in  black  and  dia- 
monds (not  more  of  the  latter  than  are 
good  taste  on  a  yacht,  of  course),  was 
yawning  over  a  green-covered  volume  with 
purple  trees  and  gold  letters  on  the  front 
and  more  purple  trees  on  the  back.  (I 
wish  I  had  the  designing  of  book  covers, 
but  that  is  in  passing.) 

Carlton  Brier  was  napping  in  the 
shadow  of  Miss  Greville's  deck-chair.  He 
is  forty-five,  and  as  handsome  a  man  as 
ever  was  made  on  the  big  dark  lines,  a 
rousing  good  fellow  and  as  poor  as  a 
mouse.  And  if  Carlton  napped  in  the 
morning,  you  can  depend  upon  it  there 
was  "nothing  doing." 

Harricott,  the  blonde  English  lad  whose 
life  is  gold-lined  and  automobile-trimmed, 
was  walking  up  and  down,  smiling  at  the 
sallies  of  black-eyed  little  Miss  Van  Dyne. 

Weedon,  the  cynic  and  dyspeptic,  was 
reading  a  fat  book — probably  statistics  on 
proper  and  improper  mastication — Helen 
and  Kitty  Scott  weren't  in  sight — 'Scott 
was  aft,  talking  to  the  captain. 

Well,  this  quiet  state  of  things  lasted 
about  half  an  hour,  then  presto !  Some- 
body produced  a  brand  new,  shiny,  uncut 
magazine  from  somewhere,  and  we  all  be- 
gan to  quarrel.  We  were  matching  for  it 
when  Scott  sauntered  up  and  suggested 
like  a  tactful  host  that  some  one  pick  out 
a  good  tale  and  read  it  aloud  to  the  crowd. 
So  we  matched  for  that,  and  it  fell  to  Miss 
Greville.  She  picked  out  a  story,  and  we 
all  drew  up  our  deck  chairs  in  a  circle. 

I  haven't  the  faintest  idea  what  the 
name  of  the  tale  was,  but  after  all,  that 
doesn't  matter.  It  was  a  good  piece  of 
work — at  least  it  began  so. 

The  hero  was  a  young  lawyer  of  the 
promising,  hopeful  kind  that  I  guess 
Helen  thought  I  was  when  she  married 
me.  I  looked  at  her  once  or  twice  when 
the  story  began,  but  she  didnt'  turn  in  my 
direction,  and  her  mouth  hadn't  gone  up 
much  at  the  corners. 

\\C11,  as  I  said,  the  hero  was  an  ambi- 
tious young  idiot,  and  was  especially  anx- 
ious to  make  a  start  at  law,  so  that  he 
could  hurry  up  and  ask  a  certain  girl  to 
preside  over  his  coffee  pot.  They  were  en- 


gaged, but  the  coffee  pot  picture  seemed  a 
long  way  off.  But  one  day,  just  as  the 
man  was  getting  discouraged,  a  case  was 
offered  him  that  looked  mighty  fine  to  a 
beginner.  A  certain  old  gentleman  had 
left  an  interesting  will  which  his  niece 
was  trying  to  break,  and  if  the  hero  could 
win  for  the  other  side  and  defeat  the  girl's 
lawyer  (who  was  one  of  the  biggest  men 
in  the  State)  his  fame  would  be  pretty 
well  clinched.  All  his  friends  congratu- 
lated him  on  getting  the  chance,  and  the 
best  (or  rather  the  worst  of  it,  as  he 
found  out  later)  was  that  he  felt  perfectly 
sure  he  had  the  right  side.  So  he  threw 
his  hat  up  in  the  air,  treated  his  friends 
all  round  and  accepted  the  case. 

Then  he  found  out  that  the  niece,  the 
girl  he  would  be  fighting,  was  his  fiancee  I 
Naturally,  his  first  impulse  was  to  with- 
draw his  acceptance,  but  just  as  he  was 
hunting  round  for  a  pen  or  stamp  01 
something,  a  note  came  from  the  girl,  a 
nice,  ambiguous  note,  telling  him  that  it 
was  a  business  matter  and  that  he  mustn't 
be  influenced  by  any  unbusiness-like  feel- 
ings he  might  have  in  regard  to  her. 

So  the  hero's  professional  ambition 
sprang  up  again  for  a  minute,  and  then 
his  feeling  for  the  girl  began  to  fight  with 
that,  and  he  began  to  pace  the  floor  and 
ask  himself  what  he  should  do. 

I  tell  you  we  were  all  pretty  interested 
Helen  was  leaning  forward  and  Weedon'a 
mastication  book  had  fallen  under  his 
chair.  Miss  Greville's  voice  went  on,  fol- 
lowing the  conflicting  thoughts  of  the  poor 
chap. 

"Suddenly  there  was  a  loud  cry  in  the 
stern,  and  we  saw  the  sailors  all  rush  to 
one  side.  "Man  overboard!"  some  one 
shouted;  a  life-preserver  was  thrown  out, 
and  orders  began  to  be  shouted  "to  put 
her  about  into  the  wind !"  We  all  sprang 
up  and  rushed  to  the  rail.  I  tell  you,  noth- 
ing less  than  a  man  overboard  would  have 
stopped  that  story.  We  hung  over  as  far 
as  we  could,  and  watched  the  life  pre- 
server go  out  into  the  white  wake,  and  we 
saw  the  sailor  strike  out  for  it.  Of  course 
he  got  hold  in  time,  and  was  hauled  in, 
mad  and  shivering.  Then  we  turned  back 
to  our  deck  chairs  for  the  rest  of  the 
tale — that  is,  all  except  Miss  Greville. 

But  Miss  Greville  evidently  hadn't  seen 
many  rescues,  and  she  got  pretty  well  ex- 


234 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


cited.  Just  before  the  man  grabbed  the 
rope,  I  had  heard  her  breath  coining  fast, 
and  I  noticed  that  her  hands  which  still 
held  the  forgotten  magazine  were  clasped 
so  tightly  that  the  nails  marked  her 
flesh. 

After  the  rest  of  us  had  turned  away  she 
still  stood  there,  watching  the  thing  to 
the  very  end.  Then  when  the  last  drip- 
ping foot  was  safely  deposited  on  the  deck, 
she  gave  a  little  cry  of  relief  and  clapped 
her  hands. 

Imagine  our  horror !  Out  into  the  wind 
and  down  into  the  sound  it  went — our 
magazine — rustling  away  like  a  yellow- 
winged  bird — and  with  it  went  our  poor 
hero  still  pacing  the  floor  and  wringing 
his  hands ! 

Well,  it  wasn't  any  use.  Some  one 
rushed  madly  for  a  boat  hook,  but  at  the 
rate  we  were  clipping  along,  we  had  lost 
sight  of  the  thing  in  the  swirls  of  foam 
before  I  had  a  chance  to  shout  "Another 
man  overboard !" 

After  we  had  lamented  and  scolded 
all  around,  we  turned  to  the  culprit.  "Miss 
Greville  will  have  to  finish  the  story,"  we 
said. 

Just  then  Scott  stepped  in  with  his 
hostful  suggestions.  "Let  everybody  fin- 
ish it  as  he  or  she  likes,"  he  said,  "and 
we'll  compare  endings." 

Weedon  flung  out  both  hands.  "Why 
didn't  we  lose  that  magazine  yesterday?" 
he  groaned.  Weedon  always  did  shirk  re- 
sponsibilities. But,  as  Mededith  says, 
"One  is  not  altogether  fit  for  the  battle  of 
life  who  is  engaged  in  a  perpetual  con- 
tention with  his  dinner." 

"Shut  up,  Weedon,"  Brier  commanded. 
"We're  going  to  do  it  alphabetically,"  and 
it  won't  be  up  to  you  for  a  long  time.  Now 
then,  begin,  Mrs.  Armand." 

Mrs.  Armand  clasped  her  plump,  be- 
diamoned  hands  and  gazed  out  over  the 
water. 

"Wtell,  the  hero  decided  to  keep  the 
case,"  she  began.  "So  he  tried  to  forget 
about  the  girl  and  win  his  side.  And  he 
was  terribly  eloquent,  and  all  the  papers 
talked  about  him.  But  just  as  he  was 
about  to  make  a  last  thrilling  oration 
(Mrs.  Armand's  husband  was  in  the  shoe 
business)  he  happened  to  glance  across 
the  hushed  court-room,  and  there  he  saw 
the  girl,  her  face  white  and  trembling, 


and  he  forgot  everything  else     in     the 
world " 

"And  shouting,  'All  for  love,'  rushed 
across  the  room,  clasped  the  girl  in  his 
arms  and  lost  his  case,"  Weedon  inter- 
rupted. 

"Hi,  there,  Weedon,  it  isn't  your  turn," 
Scott  called.  "Brier  comes  next." 

Carlton  Brier  straightened  his  long 
frame  and  took  the  cigarette  from  his 
mouth. 

"Mine's  brief,"  he  said.  "The  man  had 
a  good  friend  who  came  to  him  in  the  mid- 
dle of  his  pacing  and  told  him  to  go  ahead 
with  the  case;  so,  being  a  sensible  chap, 
he  went  in  and  won,  and  cinched  his  career 
for  the  rest  of  his  life." 

"But  what  about  the  girl?"  Miss  Gre- 
ville asked.  She  was  looking  intently  at 
Brier. 

He  laughed  and  took  another  puff. 
"Why,  of  course,  she  wouldn't  speak  to 
him  after  he  had  made  her  lose  all  her 
money,  so  he  went  on  a  cruise  in  the  Med- 
iterranean and  she  married  a  gilt-edged 
pork-packer  in  Chicago." 

Brier  sat  back  comfortably  in  his  chair. 
"Next!"  he  said. 

Miss  Greville  clasped  and  unclasped  her 
hands. 

"Mine  is  something  like  Mr.  Brier's," 
she  said.  "The  man  went  ahead  and  won 
the  case,  and  made  the  girl  lose  the 
money. 

"The  girl  wasn't  angry  at  all;  he  only 
thought  she  was,  and  on  the  night  before 
he  started  for  the  Mediterranean  she  sent 
for  him  and  told  him  that  it  didn't  mat- 
ter whether  she  was  rich  and  he  was  poor 
— or,  or  anything." 

Miss  Greville  finished  breathlessly,  and 
her  face  flushed  as  she  sank  back  in  her 
chair.  Brier  was  smiling  lazily.  I  saw 
Miss  Greville  glance  at  him  quickly,  but 
he  shook  his  head.  He  had  evidently  de- 
cided upon  the  Mediterranean  cruise  for 
his  hero. 

"Harricott!  where's  Harricott?"  Wee- 
don asked.  We  all  looked  around,  but 
Harricott  had  slipped  away.  He  realizes 
his  duty  in  society,  Harricott  does,  as  the 
Appreciative  Audience  and  the  Motor- 
Trip  Furnishing  Branch. 

"Now,  it's  up  to  you,  Trent,"  Scott 
turned  to  me.  "Or  rather  Mrs.  Trent 
and  you.  Place  dux  dames." 


THE  ENDING. 


235 


Helen  was  tearing  a  bit  of  paper  into 
tine  shreds  in  her  lap. 

"No,  you  first/'  she  said,  without  look- 
ing up.  "Arthur  comes  before  Helen." 

"Oh,  well,"  I  said  easily,  "I  think  you 
have  made  entirely  too  much  out  of  the 
situation.  The  man  did  the  natural  thing, 
of  course,  the  only  thing  .he  'cbuld  do, 
which  was  to  put  aside  the  girl's  note  (of 
course  an  expected  protest)  and  refuse- 
to  accept  the  case." 

Dora  Van  "Ryne  began  to  protest.  "Oh, 
make  more  of  a  story  than  that,"  but  Scott 
pacified  her. 

"Wait  till  we  have  Mrs.  Trent's  version 
— 'then  we'll  have  a  recess  and  everybody 
can  talk  at  once." 

Helen  began  to  arrange  the  pieces  of 
paper  in  her  lap  into  a  pattern.  There 
was  a  bright  pink  spot  in  each  cheek,  and 
she  talked  very  fast. 

"The  man  was  a  fine  fellow,"  she  said, 
looking  out  over  the  wator,  "but  ne  wasn't 
used '  to  seeing  the  two  sides  of  things. 
So  he  believed  that  there  was  only  one 
sacrifice  to  be  made,  and  that  was  the  sac- 
rifice of  his  career  for  the  sake  of  the  girl. 
It  never  occurred  to  him  that  he  was  sel- 
fish in  wishing  to  monopolize  all  the  sac- 
rifice. He  cared  more  for  the  girl  than 
for  his  career,  but  he  never  considered 
that  the  girl  might  care  more  for  his  ca- 
reer than  for  her  money,  or  herself. 

"So,  when  the  man  insisted  upon  refus- 
ing to  accept  the  case,  she  wrote  another 
note — he  had  so  evidently  not  understood 
the  first  one — and  this  time  she  spoke 
very  plainly.  She  wrote  sometning  like 
this:  'If  you  won't  (supposing  you  win) 


accept  the  sacrifice  of  my  money,  whj 
should  you  expect  me  to  accept  the  sacri- 
fice of  your  career?' 

"And  then  she  ended  by  telling  him 
what  she  believed  about  a  man's  work — 
that  when  he  had  "touched  the  c.ore  of 
his  capacities,"  when  he  was  putting  his 
best  into  his  work,  there  was  little  place 
for  woman  in  his  thoughts.  She  might 
inspire  in  victory  or  compensate  in  loss, 
but  she  would  come  before  and  after — the 
completion  of  his  life,  perhaps,  but  not 
the  whole."  ... 

Helen  stopped  abruptly,  and  looked 
down  at  the  bits  of  paper  in  her  lap.  We 
were  silent  for  an  instant. 

"Well,  did  he  still  refuse;  did  he  miss 
her  point?"  Brier  asked,  after  a  long 
silence. 

For  a  fraction  of  a  second  Helen's  eyes 
were  on  me.  Then,  "He  accepted,  didn't 
he?"  I  said. 

Helen  nodded. 

"Gee!  you  ought  to  be  a  novelist,  Mrs. 
Trent!"  Weedon  looked  at  her  with  ad- 
miration. "Wasn't  that  realistic,  though. 
You've  got  the  'touch,'  all  right." 

"But  you  didn't  finish,"  Dora  Van 
Dyne  pouted.  "He  accepted,  but  did  he 
win  the  case  ?" 

Helen  was  looking  at  the  water  again. 
The  corners  of  her  lips  curved  upward 
just  enough  to  bring  out  two  dimples. 
(Jove,  I'd  almost  forgotten  she  had  them.) 

"Did  he  win?"  Helen  repeated  over  to 
herself. 

I  leaned  forward  and  pulled  the  rug  up 
over  her  knees. 

"She  won,"  I  said,  absently. 


BY    ROCKWELL    D. 


ATUHE  has  done  her 
part  with  lavish  hand. 
Our  Yosemite,  Tahoe, 
Santa  Cruz  and  Men- 
d  o  c  i  n  o  redwoods, 
Mariposa  and  Tuol- 
umne  Big  Trees;  our 
snow-crowned  moun- 
tains of  Siskiyou  and  Inyo,  our  Lake 
County,  with  its  myriads  of  wonder-work- 
ing springs,  our  seaside  attractions  from 
north  to  sunny  south — these  are  sample 
dishes  from  the  menu  infinitely  rich  in 
quality,  in  variety  inexhaustible. 

Americans  are  slow  at  becoming  inti- 
mately acquainted  with  California's  best, 
except  at  long  range,  and  in  the  externals 
of  conventionality.  Even  our  own  home 
people,  jaded  dwellers  in  teeming  cities 
and  faithful  farmers  after  harvest  in  our 
opulent  valleys,  are  slow  to  come  to  their 
own.  Multitudes  have  never  yet  known 
the  joy  of  the  camp.  And  it  is  an  abound- 
ing joy  that  multiplies  with  the  sharing. 
To  insure  a  successful  camping  trip, 
three  conditions  must  be  present.  First, 
congenial  company;  second,  wholesome 
provision  in  ample  supply;  third,  ade- 
quate means  of  getting  from  place  to 
place  in  your  own  time,  and  not  at  the 
signal  of  a  conductor  or  the  crack  of  the 
stage  driver's  whip.  The  third  is  best 
secured  for  most  occasions  by  a  stoutly- 
built  covered  spring  wagon,  drawn  by  a 
span  of  sound,  true-and-tried  horses;  for 
rare  occasions,  the  tough,  sure-footed 
pack-horse  is  the  sine  qua  nan. 
Under  the  second  head  great  depend- 


ence may  be  placed  in  gun  and  rod;  but 
experience  has  fully  demonstrated  that  it 
is  not  the  part  of  wisdom  to  subject  the 
enormous  appetites  of  California  camp 
life  to  the  monotony  induced  by  an  ex- 
clusive diet  of  wild  game  and  fish.  The 
commissary  department  is  simplified  by 
the  infinite  variety  of  prepared  foods  of 
wholesome  quality  now  everywhere  avail- 
able, and  by  the  camp  devises  of  an  inven- 
tive generation.  Yet  nothing  quite  takes 
the  place  of  the  "flap  jacks"  of  our  fathers 
and  the  "Dutch  Ovens"  of  our  mothers. 
A  bewilderment  of  foods  and  of  dishes  in 
camp  is  a  delusion  and  a  snare. 

I  lay  chief  stress  on  the  first  condition, 
good  camp  company.  Boon  companions 
will  suffer  dire  hardship,  hard  luck,  and 
even  low  provisions,  and  yet  report  a 
splendid  time  on  returning  from  a  trip, 
but  no  amount  of  material  success  will 
compensate  for  the  absence  of  a  congenial 
camp  mate. 

I  have  been  specially  favored.  In  Yo- 
semite it  was  my  joy  to  make  camp  at  the 
base  of  Three  Brothers  peaks  with  two 
brothers  of  my  own  as  companions.  We 
called  it  Camp  Tres  Fratres.  The  snail- 
pace  of  the  burros  creeping  along  from 
splendot  to  splendor  was  not  to  our  lik- 
ing, but  in  bounding  health  and  vigor  we 
were  free  to  make  record  time  from  Senti- 
nel Dome  to  Glacier  Point  and  on  down 
the  zig-zagging  trail  to  the  picturesque 
little  chapel  on  the  floor  of  the  valley  op- 
posite grand  El  Capitan.  The  conven- 
tional life  of  the*  so-called  rich,  lounging 
around  the  lobby  of  the  hotels — we  would 


CAMPING    OUT   IN"    CALIFORNIA. 


237 


have  none  of  that:  give  us  the  freedom 
of  the  camp  and  the  more  intimate  wealth 
of  sublime  nature.  With  face  to  ground 
we  were  lulled  reluctantly  to  sleep  by  the 
grateful  thunderings  of  the  ponderous, 
magical,  miracle  of  God,  to  be  awakened 
in  early  morn  by  a  warbling  robin  who 
had  builded  her  a  nest  in  a  near-by  pine 
sapling,  fearing  no  evil. 

Very  different,  though  not  a  whit  less 
charming,  was  the  prospect  at  Tahoe,  with 
camp  cosily  set  under  those  balsamic  pines 
— the  wind  soughing  through  the  upper 
branches.  What  possibilities  of  delight 
north,  east,  south,  west,  with  camp  head- 
quarters here  on  the  border  of  that  most 
beautiful  of  all  lakes.  Here  the  true 
lover  of  nature  forgets  his  gun,  and  for  a 
time  even  his  rod,  as  he  in  grateful  hu- 
mility drinks  in  the  myriad  marvels  of 
creation  at  its  finest.  How  entrancing 
was  the  moon's  shimmer  upon  the  dancing 
waves  as  we  sat  at  the  base  of  majestic 
Tallac,  our  gaze  losing  itself  in  the  pale 
distance  on  the  lake's  bosom.  No  dream 
of  record-breaking  time  here,  whether  en- 
joying a  boating  excursion  to  the  enchant- 
ed haunts  of  Emerald  Bay  or  looking 
down  from  the  heights  of  Tallac  upon  a 
panorama  of  snowy  areas  with  jutting 
peaks,  mountain  lakes,  and  meadows  of 
brilliant  green — all  fit  for  the  eyes  of 
gods.  No  haste,  I  say,  amid  these  sur- 
roundings ;  for  she  who  was  my  chief  com- 
panion then  has  since  assumed  charge  of 
my  household  affairs.  Wihat  is  so  rare  as 
a  moonlit  night  on  the  lake ! 

John  Bidwell,  prince  of  California  pio- 
neers, was  my  chief  in  a  memorable  camp- 
ing trip  in  the  northern  Sierras.  What  a 
magnificent  camper  was  Bidwell !  What 
a  world  of  experience,  what  a  wealth  of 


reminiscence!  What  a  knowledge;  what 
unbounded  hospitality!  Not  while  life 
lasts  can  I  forget  the  gentle  yet  command- 
ing greatness  of  this  man  whose  friend- 
ships and  benefactions  were  as  broad  as 
his  spreading  acres  of  Rancho  Chico. 
"Annie,"  he  remarked  to  his  charming 
wife  the  first  morning,  "we  must  see  how 
many  plants  we  can  name  to-day,"  and 
before  nightfall  some  four  score,  from 
tiniest  lichen  to  the  stately  pinus  ponder- 
osa,  had  been  accorded  their  proper  names 
at  sight.  It  is  said  that  the  general  could 
at  the  age  of  eighty  give  the  scientific 
names  of  all  the  plants  of  every  descrip- 
tion, indigenous  and  introduced,  that 
grew  on  his  vast  estate  of  25,000  acres. 
He  had  a  passion  for  science,  whether  as- 
tronomy or  geology,  and  delighted  to  en- 
tertain in  camp  as  well  as  mansion  visit- 
ing scientists  from  far  and  near.  He 
loved  poetry  as  well  as  science,  and  how 
pleasant  it  was  to  hear  the  becoming 
verses  from  Wordsworth  or  Longfellow,  or 
a  psalm  of  David  from  the  lips  of  this 
venerable  man. 

Withal  he  was  a  benefactor  to  his 
neighbors.  The  real  objective  point  of 
this  and  many  another  of  his  camping 
trips  was  the  survey  and  improvement  of 
mountain  roads.  Scores  of  miles  of  the 
public  highway,  resurveyed  and  greatly 
improved,  will  long  continue  as  evidences 
of  the  devotion  of  the  Father  of  Chico. 

I  shall  forget  many  of  the  sights  of  that 
short  trip  in  the  region  of  Lassen's  Peak 
— it  was  in  itself  far  from  sensational — 
but  the  wholesomeness  and  uplift  of  its 
companionship  shall  never  pass.  Nature 
has  indeed  dealt  lavishly  with  California, 
but  she  has  nurtured  too  few  noble  men 
like  John  Bidwell. 


IN    NEW    SUMMER    LANDS 

BY 
FELIX    J.     KOCH 

PHOTOGRAPHS    BY    THE    AUTHOR. 


E  WAS  of  that  sort  of 
men  to  whom  if  you 
say  they  shouldn't, 
they  answer  "they 
will,"  and  if  you  tell 
them  they  should, 
they  won't. 

He  was  going 
away  from  staid  old  vacation  lands,  and  he 
wanted  to  try  something  just  a  bit  differ- 
ent from  his  friend,  who  was  summering 
in  the  Eiviera,  and  his  other  friend,  in 
Algiers,  and  the  college  chum  of  years 
standing  who  had  gone  to  Australia.  In 
short,  he  wanted  to  dispell  the  illusions 
his  friends  might  all  have  of  some  little- 
known  land. 

He   had   heard   that   in   Turkey   there 


were  new  worlds  to  conquer,  and  that,  if 
one  wanted  to  run  the  risk,  he  could  go 
by  horse  through  the  most  delightful  re- 
gion in  Europe,  the  Ivan  Planina  (or 
ridge)  of  the  Balkans.  So  he  started  for 
that  little  district — the  Sandchak  of  Novi- 
pazar. 

In  the  first  place  how  should  he  get 
there?  By  rail  from  Buda-Pest  to  Sara- 
jevo, that  was  easy.  But  all  the  way 
down  people  told  him  not  to  go  beyond 
that  point. 

"You  will  never  come  out  alive;  you 
will  certainly  regret  it!" 

Then  when  he  got  to  Sarajevo,  the 
capital  of  Bosnia,  he  heard  another  story. 

"The  Austro-Hungarians  are  occupy- 
ing all  that  section  of  Turkey  as  far  north 


IN  NEW  SUMMER  LANDS. 


as  Plevlje,  and  if  you  go  in  the  post  stage 
you  go  in  perfect  safety.  Even  now  they 
are  building  the  railway  to  that  point, 
down  the  plague  spot  of  Europe." 

Where  was  the  post  stage?  He  inquired 
at  the  post-office. 

There  was  an  affable  Austrian  on  duty, 
and  he  enlightened  him,  pleasantly. 

"It  leaves  three  times  a  week,  and  it  is 
an  experience.  Yah,  you  really  should 
take  it !" 

So  he  wanted  to  do,  but  there  was  no 
room  in  the  diligence  until  three  days  af- 
terward, liesult,  he  took  "place." 

The  eventful  day  arrived,  as  it  must, 
when  he  should  venture  into  new  vacation 
lands,  the  famous  sandchak  or  district  of 
Novi-pazar.  Incidentally,  the  post  dili- 
gence left  at  four  in  the  morning,  and  all 
four  passengers  were  warned  that  if  not 
on  time,  it  would  bowl  along  to  the  end 
of  the  Austrian  occupation,  and  into  Tur- 
kish domains  without  them.  The  fare 
was  a  mere  trifle,  five  dollars  and  four 
cents,  and  you  could  take  ten  kilograms 


of  free  baggage  along,  providing  that  this 
was  not  in  wooden  or  iron  trunks.  In 
other  words,  it  must  be  in  parcels,  for 
out  there  leather  wallets  were  totally  un- 
known. 

The  ticket  further  went  on  to  say  that 
you  couldn't  smoke  if  any  one  else  ob- 
jected. Then  you  could  take  no  dogs. 
Furthermore,  you  had  to  declare  the  value 
of  your  baggage,  otherwise  you  couldn't 
recover. 

The  only  possible  loss  seemed  to  be 
from  highwaymen,  so  that  the  American 
didn't  particularly  relish  this  last  state- 
ment. But  it  was  there,  both  in  Croat 
and  in  German,  on  the  large  white  ticket, 
and  there  was  no  way  out  of  it. 

He  studied  the  map  of  the  route.  It 
really  meant  very  little.  He  was  to  go  due 
southeast  of  Sarajevo  to  Plevlje,  but  as 
matters  of  fact,  he  would  first  travel  south 
to  Croljavac,  then  southeast  along  the 
Malj.acka  and  the  mountains  to  Goro- 
vic,  and  after  that  paralleling  the  river  to 
Praca  and  Cemernica,  and  to  the  boun- 


THE   BAGGAGE. 


240 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


dary  of  Bosnia  and  Turkey.  If,  then,  he 
went  on,  remained  to  be  seen. 

He  had  them  wake  him  at  three — at 
the  Hotel  Bosnia.  Then,  while  the  porter 
took  his  valise  to  the  post-office,  he  in- 
vested in  sausage  at  a  neighboring  gro- 
cer's, as  he  had  been  advised  to  do. 

The  'bus,  of  course,  was  not  ready  when 
he  got  to  the  post.  That  was  all  part  of 
the  programme,  enabling  the  cheery 
young  barmaid  at  the  stand  where  the 
]i(|imrs  arc  dispensed  to  the  waiters  to  in- 
dulge in  flirtations  with  guests. 

He,  too,  had  his  coffee,  then  stepped 
into  the  diligence. 

It  seemed  quite  the  limit  of  transpor- 


whole,  was  quite  friendly,  and  a  peasant 
woman  who  spoke  the  Serb  language  only, 
were  the  only  others  aboard.  The  fourth 
passenger,  evidently,  was  late,  so  they  set 
out  without  him. 

Out  of  the  city,  out  through  the  dark, 
empty  streets,  in  the  night,  and  with  the 
military  'bugles  blowing,  as  they  rounded 
the  corners,  the  start  was  made.  Despite 
the  cravenette  and  the  heavy  underwear, 
it  was  cold,  withal  that  it  was  well  to- 
ward the  end  of  August. 

Here  and  there,  out  of  the  dark,  an 
electric-light  flickered  at  the  corners; 
otherwise  this  outset  of  the  ride  was  much 
as  Dickens  described  coaching  on  similar 


AN   INN  EN   ROUTE. 


tation,  this  canvas-covered  affair.  One 
could  enter  from  either  side,  and  there 
were  two  seats  for  two  persons  each,  fac- 
ing one  another  within.  In  front  was  the 
seat  for  driver  and  guard.  To  see  the  lat- 
ter take  his  place,  gun  in  hand,  sent  a 
sudden  thrill  to  the  heart. 

Meantime,  down  in  the  bottom,  and  in 
the  rear  of  the  seats,  they  were  stacking 
parcels  that  would  go  by  mail  far  into  the 
interior. 

A  pock-marked,  non-talkative  Serb, 
who  spoke  German,  and  who,  on  the 


stilly  nights  in  England.  The  driver  and 
the  guard  were  discussing  the  mail — > 
thirty-four  parcels  in  all — wood  boxes, 
card  board  and  bundles. 

The  others  aboard  were  silent — so  he 
sank  back  into  his  seat,  on  the  right,  in 
the  rear,  to  doze. 

Ahead,  in  fact  all  day  to  the  end  (for, 
by  law,  the  two  must  keep  in  sight  of  each 
other),  there  rumbled  the  box-like  post 
wagon,  also  a  two-horse  equipage,  with 
driver  and  armed  guard  on  top. 

His  own  guard  had  his  gun  in  instant 


242 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


readiness  now,  and  it  and  the  uniform, 
added  their  powerful  part  in  giving  haz- 
ard to  the  prospect. 

It  seemed  as  though  everywhere  was 
silence — silence  only — save  when  the 
church  bells  chimed  the  hour  or  the  elec- 
tric light  globes,  swayed  by  the  breeze, 
creaked  above  the  stage's  rumble,  and  of 
the  night  one  heard  some  distant  cocks, 
and  their  cries  seemed  warnings  that  this 
trip  might  be  in  the  end  fatal.  Nearer, 
geese,  too,  cackled  angrily  at  the  driver. 
in  the  red  jacket  lined  with  blue,  red 
trousers,  tall  boots  and  red  cap  with  a 
button — as  he  lashed  at  them  with  his 
whip. 

Again  and  again  the  bugle  sounded  oui; 
on  the  silent  night,  ordering  teams  to  give 
right  of  way  to  his  Majesty's  mail. 

Then  they  were  in  the  country,  on  a 
rustic's  pike.  In  place  of  the  bugle  now 
the  driver  substituted  a  shrill  whistle 
when  some  wagon  blocked  the  way.  The 
colder  it  grew  the  more  the  passengers 
huddled  far  in  the  wagon's  depths,  and 
maintained  a  half-conscious  doze.  There 


were  no  covers  in  the  stage,  and  with  the 
growing  altitude  it  became  actually  icy. 

Then  a  second  post  wagon  joined  the 
cavalcade,  and  the  three  rolled  out,  pro- 
cession-wise, as  in  England  in  coaching 
days.  The  whistle,  the  horn,  the  night, 
and  the  guard  with  the  gun;  then  the 
mountains,  and  the  increasing  cold,  one 
would  have  slept  away  with  the  monotony 
of  them,  but  that  the  hands  and  the  feet 
were  freezing. 

Dim,  high  forms  of  mountains  on  right 
and  left  became  gradually  more  visible/ 
and  now  and  then  a  pack-train  of  mules 
was  signaled  ahead  from  the  vanguard 
of  the  post  train. 

Just  at  the  time  when  sleep  had  come, 
the  stage  came  to  a  halt. 

Of  course  it  must  be  robbers ! 

Instead,  it  was  a  young  signal  corps 
officer,  who  had  overslept  himself,  and 
hurried  by  puzzling  bridle-paths  to  over- 
take the  stage.  He  greeted  one  and  all  in 
German  as  he  took  his,  the  fourth,  place 
in  the  stage;  spoke  of  the  white  frost  on 
the  fields,  and  how  nice  it  would  be  if 


AUSTRIAN    PATROLS. 


A   LAND   OF   MOSQUES. 


they  could  stop  in  at  the  kavana,  all  lit 
up,  just  beyond,  for  some  coffee.  Then  he 
looked  at  the  moon  and  the  clear,  spark- 
ling stars,  and  likewise  fell  asleep. 

So,  too,  did  the  American.  When  he 
di(J  wake — once  or  twice — they  were  pass- 
ing a  church,  or  an  occasional  wagon, 
with  the  driver  walking  beside  his  horses, 
or  some  more  of  the  innumerable  pack- 
trains,  while  the  ever-rising,  towering 
mountains  were  always  just  perceptible 
in  the  dusk. 

When  daybreak  came,  they  were  fol- 
lowing the  line  of  a  new  spur  of  railway, 
then  just  under  construction.  Instinct- 
ively, while  they  breathed  on  their  hands 
and  shuffled  their  feet  in  an  attempt  to 
fight  that  stinging  cold,  they  compared 
this  ride  to  American  travel,  even  in  olden 
times,  and  then  to  what  it  would  be  here, 
perhaps,  three  years  hence,  when  the 
railway  got  this  far  into  Bosnia.  And 
meantime  he  was  congratulating  himself 
that  he  had  made  the  trip  now,  and  se- 
cured this  taste  of  old-fashioned  staging. 

Everything,  too,  served  for  distraction. 


A  great  herd  of  pack-horses,  tied  to- 
gether with  clothes-line,  and  a  peasant 
walking  at  their  head  or  their  sides,  served 
for  a  moment  to  ward  off  sleep.  Then  the 
mutual  expressing  of  the  wish  for  sun-up 
or  for  'covers,  kept  the  four  in  some  sort 
of  life. 

It  was  quarter  past  five  when  the  sun 
made  its  first  appearance  over  the  moun- 
tains, and  one  could  begin  to  see  things 
distinctly.  The  mountain  peaks  -grew 
yellow  against  a  ground-work  of  brown, 
and  great  valleys  of  pines  iseemed  .to 
open. 

A  passenger  suggested  that  they  tie  the 
covers  to  the  side  entry  to  the  stage,  and 
they  found  it  a  little  warmer,  now  that 
the  draft  was  shut  off,  only  that  obstructed 
the  view ! 

Time  seemed  to  pass  very  slowly.  At 
5.25  they  were  stopping  in  the  twilight 
at  two  little  homes,  and  while  the  sweat 
rose  in  steams  off  the  horses'  backs,  and 
their  breath,  too,  floated  skyward,  they 
worked  fingers  and  legs  that  were  stiff 
with  cold,  and  tried  to  break  the  frozen 


244 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


silence  by  suggesting  they  imitate  the 
peasants  they  saw  outside,  with  the  queer, 
be-turbaned  fezes  of  red,  twisted  cloth — 
and  walk  side  by  side  with  the  horses. 

Those  peasants  interested  the  Ameri- 
can deeply.  There  were  some  who  wore 
European  attire  throughout,  excepting  for 
conventional  fezes.  Ihere  were  others 
who  had  the  Bosnic  fez — 'that  of  the  red, 
twisted  cloth.  There  were  others  with  a 
handkerchief  about  the  head.  Most  of 
them  carried  bags  of  alternate  gray  and 
brown  stripes  on  their  backs. 

They  were  all  prone  to  argument,  and 
notably  so  one  with  whom  the  stage- 
driver  picked  a  quarrel,  because  the  peas- 
ant refused  to  return  an  article  he  had 
found  on  the  road. 

Other  men  in  ordinary  attire,  but  with 
great  alpen-stocks,  to  whose  tops  bouquets 
of  fresh  flowers  were  tied,  and  with  a 
"ruck  sack"  on  the  back  and  typical  Swiss 
caps  (even  to  the  green  felt  and  one 
feather),  were  likewise  clambering  on  to 
the  deep  blue  mountains,  where  the  sun- 
light had  not  yet  fallen. 

Rapidly,  now,  however,  the  light  of  day 
was  spreading  over  the  endless  peaks,  and 
at  a  kavana  where  the  cavalcade  stopped 
that  the  three  drivers  and  guards  might  go 
in  to  their  coffee,  the  cocks  were  pro- 
claiming the  fact,  Mean-time,  for  fifteen 
minutes  or  so  of  the  halt,  the  four  inside 
the  'bus  were  freezing. 

Some  pack-horses,  with  great  loads  of 
hay  wrapped  entirely  round  their  bodies, 
made  themselves  objects  of  envy,  for  their 
covers.  Likewise,  some  peasants,  in  the 
thread-crossed  brown  slippers,  the  black 
stockings  rising  to  heavy  red  garters,  the 
white  trousers  and  the  long  white  vests, 
beneath  queer  coats  of  black,  who  seemed 
not  to  heed  the  temperature  a  trifle. 

With  full  dawn  the  mists  on  the  Balkan 
peaks  ahead  were  dispelled  rapidly,  and 
the  fogs  fell  away  into  a  vale  of  blue 
clouds,  one  of  the  prettiest  sights  in  the 
world. 

If  only  it  had  been  warmer,  that  one 
could  rightly  enjoy  overlooking  then 
peaks — some  with  slopes  well-tilled  and 
patched  by  crops,  the  others  wooded  and 
their  slopes  irregular,  though  well-covered 
by  vegetation. 

And  the  music  of  the  road,  too — it  was 
so  pretty — but  for  one's  shivering!  Where 


the  black-gowned  peasants  walked  at  the 
leading  animal's  head  a  bell  swung,  tink- 
ling merrily  the  live-long  day.  Every 
train  had  its  different  burden,  too.  Here 
were  thirteen  burros,  laden  all  with  hides, 
coming  out  of  the  mountains  as  the  pack- 
trains  do  far  away  in  India.  Yonder, 
others  had  a  keg  at  each  side  of  the  horse 
with  olives,  perhaps,  for  the  valley. 

Down  in  one  vale  was  a  goat-pen,  and 
the  alpenstock  bearers  made  for  it  on  a 
run,  perhaps  for  the  goat's  milk  or  cheese, 
while  the  other  trains  wound  on  in  the 
forest. 

Wagons  hauling  supplies  for  the  new 
railway,  or  great  kegs  of  material  under 
tarpaulin,  so  as  to  resemble  American 
beer  wagons,  became  numerous  by  six, 
when,  frozen  to  the  bone,  the  first  creek 
was  reached,  and  with  each  yard  of  ascent 
the  mercury  seemed  to  fall  lower. 

Then  they  took  to  the  forest  of  pines — 
very  erect  and  laden  with  balsam.  Pines 
seemed  to  cover  even  the  crags,  and  where 
there  were  windows  were  farm  houses 
with  great  white-washed  ovens  in  their 
gardens,  beneath  a  protective  roof.  There 
was  the  summer  villa  of  a  consul  here  also, 
in  a  great  ever-green  preserve,  and  across 
the  way  was  an  inn. 

That  was  the  first  morning's  stop — it 
was  only  six-ten  now.  The  wagons  drove 
off  to  a  military  reservation  (which  no 
stranger  may  enter),  that  the  guards 
might  breakfast.  The  travelers  remained 
behind. 

They  went  to  the  inn,  but  it  was  closed. 
Luckily,  over  the  road  was  another,  the 
lian,  or  tavern  of  Bale.  Out  of  the  cold, 
through  the  guest  room  of  the  inn,  into 
the  kitchen,  where  cooking  was  in  progress 
on  a  most  modern  range,  the  travelers 
flocked.  Two  or  three  women,  wearing 
very  cheap  gowns,  were  engaged  in  pre- 
paring breakfast. 

There  were  scrambled  eggs  and  black 
bread — that  was  all,  excepting,  of  course, 
coffee.  Would  it  do?  Most  certainly,  yes. 

So,  while  the  eggs  were  cooking,  they 
thawed  out,  and  discussed  the  cold,  the 
worse  after  yesterday's  rain.  Then  they 
looked  out  the  window  at  the  great  pano- 
rama of  beautiful,  forested  mountains, 
rolling  beyond  the  barnyards. 

Their  hands  finally  warm,  and  the  chat 
at  an  end,  they  withdrew  to  the  guest 


WOMEN   OF   THE   REGION. 


246 


OVERLAID  MONTHLY. 


room,  where  the  floor  was  of  planks,  and 
the  walls  had  a  green  plaster,  and  the 
ceiling  was  of  heavy,  raised  boards.  In 
one  corner  was  a  bed,  and  beside  it  a 
sofa.  Then  there  was  a  little  iron  stove 
and  a  sewing  machine,  some  tables  and 
chairs.  Ever  since  1885,  when  the  sol- 
diers were  quartered  here,  the  Magyars 
had  run  the  place.  Now,  however,  the 
soldiers  were  useless  for  protection,  as 
there  were  no  longer  any  robbers  about. 

They  gave  other  interesting  gossip,  too, 
of  the  hunting  club  of  Turkind  beys,  close 
by,  that  was  kept  so  exclusive  because  of 
the  price  of  membership,  and  which  had 
wiped  out  practically  all  the  big  game, 
notably  bear  and  wild  boar,  leaving  only  a 
few  deer  and  chamois. 

Then  they  called  attention  to  the  sun, 
rising  on  the  pine-cla'd  mountains.  After 
that  they  let  them  go  on  with  the  coffee. 

There  was  time  to  spare  still  before  the 
wagons  returned.  Nearby  at  the  roadside 
was  a  kavana,  all  of  white  plaster,  and 
with  over-hanging  roof.  The  door  was 


open,  and  inside  on  a  divan  or  bench, 
against  the  wall,  sat  the  Turk,  cross- 
legged,  at  his  tray,  with  the  cafe  can  and 
the  little,  handleless  cup,  the  sugar  and 
spoon,  swilling  the  live-long  day. 

The  American  photoed  him  and  his 
home  and  inn.  Then  he  took  a  "snap" 
of  a  passing  Serb  by  his  horse,  and  the 
man  shook  his  hands  in  exceedingly  grate- 
ful thanks. 

Wagons  with  supplies  went  by  in  as- 
tounding numbers,  showing  the  import- 
ance of  the  trade  route  that  the  new  rail- 
way will  take  to  connect  with  the  Oriental 
Express  in  the  future. 

After  that,  it  was  time  to  go  on. 

Did  he  want  to  go?  He  had  had  only 
a  taste  of  the  Balkans!  The  Turkish 
coffee,  the  han,  the  out-door  oven,  appealed 
to  him  greatly.  It  was  getting  warmer 
now,  too — that  the  \sun  wag  up!  Of 
course  he  did !  So  he  went. 

On  to  the  heart  of  the  sandchak,  and 
the  trip  was  as  unique  as  any  he  had  heard 
of  before. 


WIND    ON    THE    SEA 


BY 


ARTHUR    POWELL 


THE   wind   is   high,  though  clear  the  sky; 
The  great  seas  rise  and  fall 
Like  the  heaving  breasts  of  a  monstrous  shape 
Spawned  in  some  under  hall, 

Where  the  ceiling  is  light  as  the  green  of  the  grape, 
And  the  floor  dark,-— dark  as  a  pall. 

The  big  ship  swings ;  the  rigging  sings ; 

The  deck  is  a  swivelled  plane; 
We  painfully  cling  and  climb,  till  now, 

One  beat,  we  are  level  again; 
Then  down  we  slide  with  the  dipping  bow 

To  a  clank-and-creak  refrain. 

Before  the  gale,  with  swelling  sail, 

We  reel  in  drunken  glee ; 
The  brute  we  ride  is  the  wind- whipped  tide 

That  heavily  rolls  a-lee; 
There,  where  the  lash  has  cut  the  hide, 

The  crystal  spray  flies  free. 


LITTLE    MUSKY'S  ,STORY 


BY 


CLARENCE    HAWKES 


ILLUSTRATED    BY    ELOISE    J.    ROOEBACH. 


ITTLE  MUSKY  had 
been  born  about  the 
first  of  February,  in 
one  of  the  conical- 
shaped  m  u  s  k  r  a  t 
houses  upon  the 
island  in  the  great 
river.  He  had  been 
one  of  a  family  of  nine  rats,  for  the  musk- 
rat  always  has  a  good,  large  family.  His 
parents  lived  in  a  three-story  house,  about 
six  feet  high,  and  six  or  seven  feet  in  di- 
ameter. The  muskrat  houses  had  been 
built  higher  than  usual  the  autumn  be- 
fore, for  by  some  wild  instinct,  the  wary 
rats  expected  unusual  freshets  in  the 
spring;  and  their  prophecies  usually  came 
true.  By  observing  these  sagacious  little 
creatures,  man  can  often  get  valuable  hints 
as  to  the  weather,  for  many  months  ahead. 
When  the  winter  is  to  be  long  and  cold, 
they  build  the  rush  and  reed  walls  of  their 
houses  thicker,  both  to  keep  out  the  cold 
and  to  serve  them  as  provender.  When 
there  is  to  be  high  water  in  the  spring, 
they  build  their  houses  high,  so  that  they 


will  not  be  drowned  out  when  the  freshet 
comes. 

The  family  of  muskrats  to  which 
Musky  belonged,  had  been  very  cozy  in 
their  nicely  constructed  house,  where 
they  nestled  close  to  their  mother's  warm 
fur  and  were  content.  It  was  several 
weeks  before  they  were  large  enough  to 
crawl  about,  but  they  grew  much  faster 
than  other  small  creatures,  so  in  two 
months  they  were  exploring  the  house  for 
themselves. 

Before  the  spring  freshet  came  they 
were  large  enough  to  go  outside,  and  run 
about  in  the  tunnels  that  the  old  musk- 
rats  had  made  in  the  snow.  These  tun- 
nels were  very  winding  and  led  from  point 
to  point,  where  provender  had  been  stored. 

About  the  middle  of  April  there  were 
several  days  of  hard  rain,  and  the  tee  in 
the  river  broke  up,  and  the  spring  flood 
began. 

At  first  the  three  conical  houses  on  the 
island  had  seemed  very  secure,  for  they 
were  on  a  high  point,  and  several  feet 
above  water.  But  an  ice-jam  was  formed 


248 


OVEBLAND  MONTHLY. 


in  the  river  below,  and  the  water  rose 
rapidly.  This  was  something  that  the 
rats  had  not  expected;  so,  like  the  wisest 
of  us,  they  were  taken  unawares.  Soon 
the  water  came  into  the  lower  story  of 
their  house,  and  they  went  to  the  second 
floor.  Then  that,  too,  became  flooded,  and 
they  went  to  the  third  and  last.  But  the 
water  still  rose,  and  the  fate  of  the  poor 
muskrats  looked  dubious.  The  water  was 
so  deep  about  their  house  that  they  could 
not  escape  by  the  water  passage,  and  reach 
a  place  of  refuge  before  their  breath  and 
strength  would  be  gone.  Finally,  the 
floor  of  their  last  refuge  became  wet,  and 
they  huddled  up  in  one  corner,  frightened 
and  miserable. 

Then  a  lucky  accident  delivered  them 
from  the  trap  in  which  they  had  been 
caught,  for  a  log  came  rushing  and  tum- 
bling about  in  the  current,  and  stove  in 
the  top  of  their  house,  and  their  escape 
was  made  more  easy. 

But  where  should  they  flee,  for  on  every 
side  was  water,  water,  water,  and  nothing 
but  water.  It  was  not  placid  and  inviting, 
as  they  were  used  to  see  it,  but  turbulent 
and  angry,  and  they  feared  it  with  an  un- 
known fear. 

Soon  a  long,  queer  object  began  slowly 
moving  across  the  meadows,  towards  the 
island.  Occasionally  a  bright  flame  would 
leap  from  this  strange  thing,  and  a  thun- 
derous noise  would  reverberate  across  the 
water.  The  muskrats  did  not  know  what 
it  all  meant,  but  it  doubled  their  fears, 
which  were  already  great. 

Soon  the  monster  drew  near  the  island 
and  its  three  conical  houses,  and  the  old 
rats  became  alarmed.  They  were  all  out 
on  the  top  of  the  house  now,  and  could 
see  the  moving  object  quite  plainly.  Then 
the  thunder  stick  spoke  again,  louder  and 
more  terribly  than  it  had  before,  and  one 
of  the  old  rats  and  three  of  the  children 
rolled,  kicking  and  splashing,  into  the 
river,  and  the  water  about  them  was  red 
with  blood.  Then  a  friendly  plank  came 
floating  by,  and  the  remaining  old  musk- 
rat,  and  three  of  the  youngsters  swam  and 
climbed  upon  it.  Bang,  bang,  bang,  went 
the  thunder  stick  again,  and  the  old  musk- 
rat  and  two  of  the  children  on  the  plank 
tumbled  off,  as  the  others  had  done  from 
the  top  of  their  house;  and  little  Musky 
was  left  alone  upon  the  plank,  in  a  hostile 


and  terrible  world.  But  the  water  was 
more  merciful  than  man,  for  the  current 
bore  him  swiftly  away,  out  of  reach  of  the 
thunder-stick. 

On,  on,  the  current  swept  the  friendly 
plank,  and  this  queer  little  mariner  was 
borne  far  away  from  all  familiar  things, 
and  never  again  in  his  adventurous  life 
did  he  see  any  of  his  own  family.  Some- 
times the  plank  rushed  through  narrows 
with  a  speed  that  fairly  took  his  breath 
away,  and  then  it  glided  gently  along, 
where  the  river  was  broad  and  not  so  tur- 
bulent. Once  it  rushed  into  a  whirlpool 
and  was  sent  spinning  round  and  round. 
The  poor  rat  became  quite  dizzy,  and  near- 
ly lost  his  hold,  but  he  knew  intuitively 
that  his  only  hope  was  in  clinging  tight, 
so  he  clung. 

Several  times  the  plank  shot  under  long 
bridges,  where  the  swollen  waters  nearly 
washed  the  floor.  At  another  point  it  shot 
over  a  great  dam,  with  the  speed  of  an 
arrow. 

Finally,  after  several  hours,  it  was  car- 
ried into  back  water,  and  lodged  in  some 
bushes,  and  Musky's  travels  ceased  for  a 
while,  for  which  he  was  very  glad,  for  it 
tired  him  and  made  him  so  dizzy  he  could 
hardly  tell  water  from  land. 

Soon  another  plank  came  floating  by 
and  lodged  still  nearer  the  shore,  so  he 
left  the  plank  that  had  served  him  so  well, 
and  swam  to  the  second  one,  and  from  that 
to  an  old  log,  until  at  last  he  was  on 
land.  Here  his  first  care  was  to  eat  some 
last  year's  dead  water  grass,  and  stop 
the  gnawing  at  his  vitals.  Then  he  crawled 
into  a  hole  in  the  bank  and  went  to  sleep. 

When  he  awoke  he  was  sore  and  stiff, 
but  a  run  in  the  sand  soon  restored  his 
good  feelings.  There  was  plenty  of  good 
food,  both  in  the  wash  along  the  shore,  and 
in  the  reeds  and  water  grasses,  so  he  fared 
very  well  as  far  as  food  was  concerned,  but 
he  was  very  lonely.  He  had  always  had  a 
dozen  or  more  young  muskrats  for  play- 
mates and  companions,  and  it  seemed 
strange  to  be  left  all  alone.  He  had  no 
idea  where  the  island  in  the  great  river 
could  be  found  again,  and  soon  gave  up 
looking  for  it. 

The  second  day  he  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  a  drowned-out  skunk,  which  made 
it  a  little  less  lonesome.  The  skunk  did 
not  have  very  much  to  do  with  him,  but 


ON,    ON,    THE    OTJRRENT    SWEPT    THE    FRIENDLY    PLANK. 


250 


0\7EELAND  MONTHLY. 


it  was  nice  just  to  have  some  one  to  look 
at,  and  to  know  that  there  were  other  liv- 
ing things,  besides  himself,  that  the  flood 
had  pushed  from  their  homes. 

After  about  a  week,  the  flood  subsided, 
and  the  river  went  back  to  its  old  channel. 
The  sun  then  came  out  warm  for  the  time 
of  year  and  dried  up  the  sand.  The  young 
muskrat  found  the  sand  a  great  delight, 
and  was  never  tired  of  playing  in  it,  but 
he  soon  learned  that  his  element  was  the 
water.  On  land  he  was  awkward,  and  did 
not  know  just  how  to  make  his  legs  go,  but 
in  the  water  they  went  all  right.  So  he 
concluded  that  he  was  made  for  swimming 
and  kept  much  to  the  water. 

Two  very  serious  mishaps  befell  him 
this  first  summer,  which  he  might  have 
avoided  if  he  had  been  in  the  company  of 
wiser  heads,  but  he  was  alone  in  the  world, 
and  had  to  buy  all  his  wisdom. 

One  morning  in  midsummer  he  was 
playing  on  the  shore,  after  having  made  a 
fine  breakfast  on  lily  bulbs,  when  he  no- 
ticed a  shadow  upon  the  ground  beside 
him.  It  had  not  been  there  a  second  be- 
fore, and  he  wondered  what  made  it.  The 
next  second  he  found  out  in  a  way  that 
astonished  him,  for  there  was  a  great  flap- 
ping above  him,  and  before  he  knew  what 
was  about  to  happen,  a  large  fish-hawk 
had  wrapped  steely  talons  about  him,  and 
strong  wings  were  bearing  him  away. 

With  that  instinct  of  self-preservation 
that  is  strong  in  all  wild  creatures,  and 
which  tells  them  to  do  the  right  thing  at 
the  right  time,  the  young  rat  drew  him- 
self up,  and  buried  his  teeth  in  the  hawk's 
leg. 

The  old  osprey  had  caught  many  young 
muskrats  before;  none  of  them  had  ever 
bitten  him,  but  he  had  taken  this  one  up 
in  the  wrong  manner.  It  was  so  sudden 
and  unexpected  that  for  a  second  the  hawk 
loosed  his  grip,  and  the  poor  rat  dropped 
back  into  the  river,  with  a  suddenness 
that  knocked  the  breath  out  of  his  body, 
and  left  him  kicking  and  gasping  on  the 
surface  of  the  water.  The  hawk  could 
easily  have  taken  him  again,  but  the  musk- 
rat's  teeth  had  sunk  deep  into  his  leg,  and 
he  concluded  to  go  after  a  fish  instead. 
Fish  did  not  act  in  that  uncivil  manner. 

So  little  Musky  escaped  this  time,  but 
he  never  forgot  the  lesson.  After  that, 
whenever  he  saw  the  fish-hawk  hovering 


above  the  river,  he  sought  a  safe  shelter, 
and  was  very  careful  not  to  show  himself 
until  the  osprey  had  gone.  Musky's  sec- 
ond adventure,  and  one  from  which  he 
learned  a  valuable  lesson,  was  with  his 
worst  enemy,  the  mink. 

One  evening,  when  he  was  playing  in 
the  shallows  of  a  little  brook,  which  ran 
into  the  river,  he  saw  a  slim,  sleek-looking 
animal,  not  much  larger  than  himself, 
come  gliding  noiselessly  down  the  brook. 
His  movements  were  all  stealthy,  and  his 
head  was  turned  this  way  and  that,  inquir- 
ingly ;  his  eyes  were  sharp  and  beady,  and 
Musky  did  not  like  his  looks,  although  he 
seemed  small  and  harmless. 

Presently  the  stranger  caught  sight  of 
the  muskrat  and  fixed  his  glittering  eyes 
upon  him.  This  made  Musky  feel  un- 
comfortable, and,  deciding  to  give  the 
fierce  little  stranger  all  the  room  he 
wanted,  he  moved  to  the  other  side  of  the 
brook,  but  the  mink  followed,  his  eyes 
getting  brighter  and  brighter.  Then 
Musky  concluded  the  stranger  was  not  to 
his  liking,  and  fled  towards  the  river, 
where  there  was  plenty  of  water,  the  mink 
following  fast.  Out  and  in  among  the  lily 
pads  they  raced,  the  mink  gaining  on  the 
rat,  and  Musky  getting  more  and  more 
frightened.  What  could  this  little  fury 
want  of  him? 

Wihen  they  reached  the  river,  the  mink 
was  but  a  few  feet  behind,  and  he  glided 
after  the  muskrat  like  a  snake.  In  his 
great  fright,  the  muskrat  did  the  only 
thing  that  he  could  have  done  to  save  hia 
life.  He  knew  of  no  burrow  in  which  to 
take  refuge,  so  he  swam  for  deep  water, 
and  dove  to  the  bottom.  His  lungs  were 
much  stronger  than  those  of  the  mink,  so 
by  a  series  of  dives  he  soon  winded  his 
pursuer,  and  escaped,  hiding  in  the  lily 
pads  until  he  was  gone. 

After  this  thrilling  chase,  the  muskrat's 
life  went  on  quite  uneventfully,  until  the 
fall  freeze.  When  the  rivers  and  streams 
began  to  skim  over  with  ice  each  morning, 
and  the  grass  along  the  bank  was  covered 
with  hoar-frost,  something  told  the  musk- 
rat  that  snow  and  cold  were  coming.  He 
knew  by  some  rare  instinct  that  he  would 
not  always  be  able  to  make  his  breakfast 
at  the  brook-side,  as  he  now  did. 

So  with  prudent  forethought  he  began 
building  a  great  mound  of  reeds,  rushes, 


A   FINE  BREAKFAST  ON  LILY  BULBS. 


lily  pads,  moss  and  other  plants  that  grew 
in  swampy  places. 

Higher  and  higher  he  piled  this  heap 
of  plant  life,  until  it  was  five  or  six  feet 
high,  and  nearly  as  far  across  at  the  base. 
The  inside  of  this  queer  haycock  he  left 
hollow,  and  when  it  was  finished,  he  made 
two  channels  underground,  from  the  in- 
side of  his  house,  to  the  brook. 

He  made  these  channels  quite  long,  so 


that  his  enemy,  the  mink,  would  have  a 
hard  time  holding  his  breath  if  he  should 
undertake  to  enter  at  his  front  door. 

This  queer  house  that  the  muskrat  had 
built  was  to  serve  two  purposes.  First, 
it  was  his  place  of  refuge  and  shelter,  and 
secondly  it  was  his  food.  Who  ever  heard 
of  any  one  eating  his  house?  But  this 
was.  what  the  muskrat  did,  while  the 
winter  days  went  by. 


THE    MAN    WHO    INSPIRED 
"RAMONA" 


BY    LOUIS    J. 


ILLUSTRATED    WITH    PHOTOGRAPHS. 


F  THE  many  millions 
who  have  read  Helen 
Hunt  Jackson's  fam- 
ous novel  of  Southern 
California,  very  few 
realize  that  the  story 
is  true,  and  a  still 
smaller  number  know 
that  the  man  who  inspired  a  young  and 
then  unknown  writer  to  produce  her  mas- 
terpiece has  just  been  laid  to  rest  in 
San  Diego. 

Father  A.  D.  Ubach,  for  forty  years 
priest  of  St.  Joseph's  Church  in  San 
Diego,  is  the  original  of  one  of  the  strong- 
est characters  in  the  story  of  Ramona : 
"Father  Gaspard,  the  bearded  priest; 
more  of  a  soldier  than  the  man  of  God." 
Thus  he  is  described  by  the  author  of 
"Ramona,"  to  whom  he  told  the  dramatic 
story  of  the  beautiful  half-caste  girl  and 
her  red-skinned  lover  many  years  ago. 

Miss  Helen  Hunt,  as  was  then  her 
name,  met  Fathej  Ubach  while  visiting 
San  Diego,  and  was  deeply  impressed  by 
the  latter's  striking  personality.  Father 
Ubach,  also,  was  attracted  by  the  young 
writer,  and,  learning  of  her  literary  ambi- 
tions, told  her  the  story  of  Ramona  and 
Allesandro,  whose  dramatic  fortunes  and 
ill-starred  union  were  always  among  the 
most  vivid  memories  of  his  stirring  and 
eventful  life. 

Graphically,  and  with  the  realism  of 
combined  eloquence  and  intimate  personal 
knowledge,  Father  Ubach  poured  into  the 
eager  ears  of  his  fair  listener  the  sub- 
stance of  the  story  so  well  elaborated  in 
the  resultant  book.  He  described  the  mis- 
givings, perplexities  and  battlings  with 
Self  which  shook  Ramona's  heart  and 
mind  when  she  found  herself  in  love  with 
the  young  Indian  chief  employed  on  her 


foster  parents'  estate;  how  the  call  of  the 
free,  wild  blood  in  her  veins  clashed  with 
the  Castillian  heritage  of  restraint,  dig- 
nity and  pride  which  were  also  there,  and 
of  her  final  abandonment  of  home,  social 
position  and  all  her  former  world  held 
dear,  to  follow  Allesandro  into  the  moun- 
tains— a  penniless  outcast,  yet  radiant 
with  happiness  and  hope. 

No  other  could  have  told  the  young 
writer  of  these  things,  for  Father  Ubach 
was  the  confessor,  comforter  and  truest 
friend  of  both  Allesandro  and  Ramona. 
It  was  he  who  counselled  the  girl  before 
her  fateful  marriage.  He  performed  the 
marriage  ceremony  in  the  ancient  adobe 
mission  church  at  Old  San  Diego,  fol- 
lowed their  subsequent  career  of  continued 
misfortune  with  words  of  cheer,  wise  coun- 
sel and  even  more  material  assistance,  and 
performed  the  last  rites  over  Allesandro's 
remains,  when  he  fell  a  victim  to  the 
rapacity  of  a  murderous  land-grabber.  Nor 
did  Father  Ubach's  beneficent  influence 
end  here,  for  through  all  the  subsequent 
years  of  Ramona's  widowhood  and  the  de- 
cline of  her  grief-shortened  life,  he  re- 
mained the  friend,  counselor  and  advisor. 

All  this  Miss  Hunt  learned  from  the 
lips  of  Father  Ubach,  and  that  she  might 
have  further  opportunity  to  clothe  the  ro- 
mance with  dramatic  realism,  he  guided 
her,  personally,  to  many  of  the  scenes 
where  its  principal  events  had  been  en- 
acted. 

The  result  was  a  novel  which  took  im- 
mediate rank  among  the  world's  master- 
pieces, and  has  sometimes  been  called  the 
"Uncle  Tom's  Cabin"  of  the  red  man, 
even  as  Ramona  and  Allesandro  were  the 
Romeo  and  Juliet  of  the  Indian  race.  The 
pen  picture  of  "Father  Gaspard,"  in 
which  Father  Ubach  and  his  noble,  active 


FATHER    UBACH  S    ORIGINAL    CHAPEL    NEAR  SAN  DIEGO,  WHERE  HE  HELD 

SERVICES    IN    1868. 


OLD    ADOBE    MISSION    NEAR    SAN    DIEGO,    WHERE  RAMONA   WAS   MARRIED. 


FATHER    UBACH,    FROM    HIS    LATEST    PHOTOGRAPH. 


life  have  been  so  vividly  portrayed,  is  con- 
ceded to  be  the  best  description  of  the 
venerable  priest  extant,  and  the  friend- 
ship between  him  and  Mrs.  Jackson  was 
never  broken  during  his  life. 

Aside  from  his  connection  with  Ea- 
mona,  Father  TJbach's  career  has  been 
such  as  to  win  him  renown  of  the  first 
order.  He  came  to  San  Diego  forty  years 
ago  from  Missouri,  where  he  had  emi- 
grated from  his  home  in  Barcelona,  Spain. 
Until  his  twenty-first  year,  the  church 
was  not  his  aim,  for,  despite  his  youth,  he 


ranked  as  one  of  Spain's  best  swordsmen 
and  a  poet  of  no  mean  ability.  An  affair 
of  the  heart  is  said  to  have  turned  his 
purpose  to  a  consecrated  life,  and  soon  af- 
ter he  left  his  native  land,  never  to  re- 
turn. 

Wihen  he  first  arrived  in  San  Diego,  the 
business  center  was  at  a  point  consider- 
ably removed  from  the  present  one,  and 
the  population  mostly  Spanish  and  In- 
dian. His  popularity  was  immediate,  and 
his  policy  of  firm,  unwavering  justice  won 
the  esteem  and  confidence  of  all  alike. 


"GRANDMA"  VARNER  AND  "TOMMY." 


255 


During  some  of  the  most  momentous 
events  of  Southern  California's  history, 
Father  Ubach  was  a  leader,  unfalteringly 
advocating  the  right,  and  usually  winning 
his  point,  though  he  never  made  use  of 
Church  influence  on  such,  occasions  or 
took  any  advantage  of  his  cloth. 

Father  Ubach  was  looked  upon  as  a 
demi-God  by  the  Indians,  whose  friend  he 
always  remained,  and  during  the  trou- 
blous days  of  disputed  land  rights,  when 
many  contended  that  the  red  man  was  be- 
ing outrageously  treated  by  a  thoughtless 
Government  and  unscrupulous  land  grab- 
bers, Father  Ubach  righted  many  a  glar- 
ing wrong  and  averted  many  an  uprising 
which  might  have  cost  countless  human 
lives. 

Perhaps  the  one  marked  idiosyncrasy 
of  Father  Ubach's  well  balanced  mind 
was  his  antipathy  to  photographers  seek- 
ing for  his  picture.  To  one  and  all  of 
these  he  kindly  but  firmly  refused  permis- 


sion to  "Kodak"  him,  and  although  thou- 
sands have  tried,  surreptitiously,  to  snap- 
shot him,  his  curious  watchfulness, 
amounting  almost  to  second  sight,  pre- 
vented one  and  all  from  achieving  any 
measure  of  success.  He  would  simply 
turn  as  the  photographer  was  about  to 
press  the  button,  and  without  any  attempt 
to  turn  away  or  cover  his  face  from  view, 
would  hold  up  his  hand  in  a  majestic  ges- 
ture of  protest  which  no  one  ever  dared  or 
cared  to  disregard. 

As  a  result,  no  picture  of  Father  Ubaeh 
was  printed  until  after  his  death,  when  a 
San  Diego  photographer  finished  two 
negatives  he  had  exposed  of  a  group  con- 
taining Father  Ubach  at  the  funeral  of 
the  Bennington  victims.  On  this  occa- 
sion, Father  Ubach  could  not  well  object, 
but  kept  his  eyes  on  his  book.  He  never 
explained  this  whim,  but  many  consider 
it  a  regard  for  the  sanctity  of  the  vest- 
ments he  wore. 


'GRANDMA"   VARNER  AND 
"TOMMY" 

BY    ELIZABETH     A.    KELLY 


WITH  A  PHOTOGRAPH  BY  P.  P.  STEVENS. 


RANDMA      VARNER, 

the  last  of  the  "types" 
selected  by  Helen 
Hunt  Jackson  for  her 
stories  of  the  rugged 
Rockies,  is  dead. 

In  a  little  hut  on 
the  outskirts  of 
Denver,  she  closed  her  eyes  while  the 
June  sun  was  sinking  and  her  pain-racked 
body  found  relief.  It  had  been  a  long, 
long  time  since  she  had  feasted  on  the 
beauties  of  the  everlasting  hills,  and  it 
had  been  weary  months  and  years  since 
she  has  been  able  to  reach  the  door  of  her 
hut  without  assistance  to  drink  in  the 
warm,  invigorating  air. 

Years  ago  Helen  Hunt  Jackson  trudged 


the  Colorado  plains  and  journeyed  through 
the  mountain  fastnesses,  looking  for  ma- 
terial upon  which  to  build  the  fascinat- 
ing stories  which  have  since  made  her 
famous. 

She  was  a  busy  woman  in  search  of 
"types."  She  had  grown  to  know  the  men 
and  the  women  who  peopled  the  villages 
which  nestled  in  the  foothills,  and  while 
there  was  a  charm  about  their  very  rug- 
gedness  of  character,  in  those  strenuous 
days,  intuitively  the  woman  felt  that  the 
mountains  sheltered  a  still  sturdier  army. 

And  so  it  came  about  that  Helen  Hunt 
Jackson  discovered  "Grandma"  Varner, 
and  heard  from  the  thin,  worn  lips  the 
stories  of  hardship  and  suffering,  the 
stories  of  love  and  devotion,  which  she 


256 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


wove  into  "Bits  of  Travel  at  Home,"  a 
book  which  holds  a  place  in  the  library  of 
every  Coloradoan. 

if  was  more  than  thirty  years  ago  when 
the  clear  Colorado  skies  smiled  on  a 
smaller  band  of  men  and  women  and  the 
canyons  echoed  less  frequently  the  shrill 
whistle  of  the  engine,  that  Mrs.  Jackson 
made  her  way  out  of  Colorado  Springs 
into  the  mountains  which  were  even  then 
being  blasted  to  meet  the  demands  of  the 
march  of  progress. 

On  a  lonely  mountain  road  she  came 
upon  an  old  woman,  stooped  and  gray, 
with  her  arms  well  filled  with  kindling. 

The  type  fascinated  her.  She  stopped 
and  interrogated  the  wrinkled  creature. 
Her  heart  was  touched;  she  wanted  to 
offer  help,  but  almost  the  first  words  that 
fell  from  the  pale  and  drawn  lips  were 
these : 

"Oh,  no;  I  ain't  never  suffered.  I've 
always  had  a  plenty.  I've  always  been 
took  care  of.  God  always  takes  care  of 
me." 

It  was  the  key  to  the  character  of  the 
woman,  and  with  it  Helen  Hunt  Jackson 
opened  up  a  treasure  house  which  fur- 
nished the  most  delightful  pages  of  her 
"Bits  of  Travel  at  Home." 

Until  a  few  weeks  ago,  this  same  old 
woman,  with  hair  whiter — if  whiter  it 
could  be — with  lips  more  purple  and  more 
drawn,  but  with  her  tired  old  brain  still 
alive  to  the  happenings  of  the  strenuous 
days  of  which  she  told  Helen  Hunt  Jack- 
eon,  still  lived,  "waiting  for  the  call  to  go 
home." 

In  a  little  frame  house  of  a  single  room 
on  the  borders  of  Denver  she  lived  with 
her  son  Thomas,  the  "Tommy"  of  the 
book,  and  every  day  the  little  children  of 
the  district  which  lies  'below  the  railroad 
tracks  would  gather  about  her  to  hear 
again  the  stories  of  the  long  ago,  when 
Colorado  was  new,  when  its  wealth  was 
unexplored,  and  when  sturdy  men  and 
women,  and  heroic  little  children,  endured 
privation  and  hardship  that  they  might 
grow  with  the  new  country,  and  one  day 
taste  of  its  treasures. 

It  isn't  so  very  many  years  since  Helen 
Hunt  Jackson  was  buried  in  the  hills  out- 
side Colorado  Springs  on  the  brink  of  a 
precipice  where  she  used  to  sit  and  weave 
her  stories,  but  it  is  many  years  since  her 


"characters"  passed  into  the  Great  Be- 
yond,  with  the  sole  exception  of  Mrs.  Mary 
Varner,  whom  every  one  knew  always  as 
just  "Grandma." 

Although  blind,  as  if  her  eyes  had  never 
opened  on  a  beautiful  world,  and  crip- 
pled so  that  she  could  only  with  difficulty 
move  from  her  bed  to  her  chair,  "Grand- 
ma" Varner  clung  tenaciously  to  life,  and 
the  memories,  sweet  and  bitter,  which  her 
tired  old  brain  sheltered.  She  loved  to 
talks  of  the  days  of  long  ago,  and  best  of 
all,  she  loved  to  tell  the  story  of  her  first 
meeting  with  Helen  Hunt  Jackson.  It  is 
this  meeting  which  Mrs.  Jackson  uses  in 
her  story  called  the  "New  Anvil  Chorus," 
which  appears  toward  the  end  of  "Bits  of 
Travel  at  Home." 

This  is  the  way  Mrs.  Jackson  tells  of 
the  meeting: 

"The  boards  of  a  wagon  top  were  set 
up  close  by  the  doorway,  and  on  these 
were  hanging  beds,  bedding  and  a  variety 
of  nondescript  garments.  A  fire  was  burn- 
ing on  the  ground  a  few  steps  off,  and  on 
this  was  a  big  iron  kettle  full  of  clothes 
boiling;  there  were  two  or  three  old  pans 
and  iron  utensils  standing  near  the  fire; 
an  old  flag-bottomed  chair,  its  wood  worn 
smooth  and  shining  by  long  use,  and  a 
wooden  bench  on  which  was  a  wash-tub 
.  full  of  clothes  soaking  in  water.  I  paused 
to  look  at  the  picture,  and  a  woman  pass- 
ing said : 

"  'That's  Grandma's  house.' 

"  'Your  grandmother  ?'  I  asked. 

"'Oh,  no,'  she  replied.  'She  ain't  no- 
body's grandmother;  but  we  all  call  her 
grandma.  She's  here  with  her  son;  he 
was  weakly,  and  she  brought  him  here. 
There  ain't  many  like  her.  I  wonder 
where  she's  gone,  leavin'  her  washin'  this 
way.' 

"Then  we  fell  into  talk  about  the  new 
city,  and  what  the  woman's  husband  was 
doing,  and  how  hard  it  was  for  them  to 
get  along,  and  presently  we  heard  foot- 
steps. 

"  'Oh,  there's  grandma  now,'  she  said. 

"I  looked  up  and  saw  a  tall,  thin  wo- 
man in  a  short,  scant  calico  gown,  with  an 
old  woolen  shawl  crossed  at  her  neck  and 
pinned  tight  at  the  belt  after  the  fashion 
of  the  Quaker  women.  Her  sleeves  were 
rolled  up  above  her  elbows,  and  her  arms 
were  brown  and  muscular  as  an  Indian's 


GRANDMA   VARNER. 


Copyrighted  by  F.  P.  Stevens 


Her  thin,  gray  hair  blew  about  her  tem- 
ples under  an  old  limp,  brown  sunbonnet, 
which  hid  the  outline  of  her  face,  but  did 
not  hide  the  brightness  of  her  keen,  light- 
gray  eyes.  Her  face  was  actually  seamed 
with  wrinkles;  her  mouth  had  fallen  in 
from  want  of  teeth,  and  yet  she  did  not 
look  wholly  like  an  old  woman. 

"  'Grandma,  this  lady's  from  Colorado 
Springs,'  said  my  companion,  by  way  of 
introduction. 

"Grandma  was  carrying  an  armful  of 
cedar  boughs.  She  threw  them  on  the 
ground,  and  turning  to  me,  said  with  a 
smile  that  lighted  up  her  whole  face : 

"  'How  d'ye  do,  marm  ?  That's  a  place 
I've  always  wanted  to  see.  I've  alwa}^ 
thought  I'd  like  to  live  to  the  springs  ever 
since  I've  been  in  this  country.' 

"  'Yes/  I  said,  'it's  a  pleasant  town ;  but 
do  you  not  like  it  here  ?' 

"She  glanced  at  her  shanty  and  its  sur- 
roundings, and  I  felt  guilty  at  having 
asked  my  question ;  but  she  replied : 

"  'Oh,  yes,  I  like  it  very  well  here.  When 


we  get  our  house  built  we'll  be  comfort- 
able. It's  only  for  Tommy  I'm  here.  If 
it  wan't  for  him  I  wouldn't  stay  in  this 
country.  He's  all  I've  got.  Wfe're  all 
alone  here;  that  is,  so  far  as  connections 
goes;  but  we've  got  plenty  of  friends,  and 
Gods'  here  just  the  same  as  everywhere.' 

"She  spoke  this  last  sentence  in  as  natu- 
ral and  easy  a  tone  as  all  the  rest;  there 
was  no  more  trace  of  cant  or  affectation 
in  her  mention  of  the  name,  of  God  than 
her  mention  of  Tommy's.  They  seemed 
equal]y  familiar  and  equally  dear.  Then 
she  went  to  the  fire  and  turned  the  clothes 
over  with  a  long  stick,  and  prepared  to 
resume  her  work. 

"  'How  long  have  you  been  here  ?'  I 
asked. 

"  'Only  about  a  week,'  she  said.  'Tommy 
he's  working's  hard's  ever  he  can  to  get 
me  a  house  built.  It  worries  him  to  see 
me  living  this  way.  He's  got  it  three  logs 
high  already,'  proudly  pointing  to  it  only 
a  few  rods  further  up  the  hill.  'But 
Tommy's  only  a  boy  yet.  He  ain't  six- 


258 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


teen ;  he's  learning ;  he's  learning  to  do  for 
hisself ;  he's  a  real  good  boy,  and  he's  get- 
ting stronger  every  day;  he's  getting  his 
health  real  firm,  'n  that's  all  I  want. 
'Tain't  any  matter  what  becomes  of  me, 
if  I  can  only  get  Tommy  started  all 
right/  " 

And  this  is  the  story  of  "Grandma" 
Varner  told  to  the  last.  She  did  not 
know  until  sixteen  years  ago  that  her 
stories  had  been  incorporated  in  one  of 
Mrs.  Jackson's  books,  but  the  knowledge 
filled  her  with  pride,  and  as  long  as  her 
sight  lasted,  she  read  and  re-read  the  little 
tale  of  the  hills. 

To  the  end  of  her  days,  as  when  Mrs. 
Jackson  first  met  her,  "Grandma"  Var- 
ner wore  a  scarf  about  her  neck,  crossed  at 
the  waist  in  Quaker  style,  and  her  hair 
was  combed  with  faultless  precision  just 
as  it  was  three  decades  ago.  Although 
she  could  not  see,  her  fingers  were  still 
nimble,  and  she  had  learned  by  long  prac- 
tice the  little  touches  that  would  lend 
charm  to  her  personal  appearance. 

Hardly  a  day  went  by  that  the  little  old 
woman  did  not  breathe  her  story  in  the 
hut  on  the  outskirts  of  a  flourishing  city. 
She  was  away  from  the  noise  and  the  din. 
of  busy  life,  but  the  mountains  lay  off 
to  the  west  of  her  window,  and  their  com- 
panionship, though  she  could  no  longer 
feast  her.  eyes  on  their  snow-capped  peaks 
shut  out  the  loneliness  from  her  heart. 

Eighty-nine  years  had  rolled  over  her 
head,  and  eighty-nine  years  filled  with- 
out trouble  stood  out  in  her  memory.  No 
flowers  grew  near  the  dusty  spot  which 
"Grandma"  Varner  called  home,  and  no 
sound  of  music  penetrated  the  frame 
walls. 

But  the  memory  of  other  years  cheated 
her  into  utter  forgetfulness  of  the  presen* 
and  the  hope  of  "home"  at  last  buoyed  her 
up. 

"I  remember  Mrs.  Jackson  just  as  plain 
as  I  do  my  mother,"  the  old  woman  would 
generally  say  by  way  of  preface  to  her 
story. 

"Oh,  yes,  it  was  years  ago  when  they 
undertook  to  build  the  new  railroad  out 
from  Colorado  Springs.  I  had  only  a 
little  while  before  taken  Tommy  out  with 
me  to  Colorado,  for  he  was  kind  of  delicate 
like,  and  I  lived  in  fear  of  losing  him.  He 
was  a  slip  of  a  boy  about  sixteen,  and  he 


was  all  the  help  he  could  be  to  me,  but 
times  were  hard.  We  took  our  wagon  and 
tried  to  follow  the  men  along  the  road, 
Tommy  earning  money  hauling  for  them 
and  I  doing  their  washing  and  mending. 
The  day  I  met  Mrs.  Jackson  stands  out  in 
my  memory  as  bringing  into  my  life  a 
character  altogether  new.  She  was  the 
first  person  who  was  ever  really  kind  to 
me. 

"One  day  while  I  had  the  clothes  a  boil- 
ing over  the  fire  beside  the  wagon-box 
where  we  lived,  I  noticed  that  I  was  out 
of  wood,  and  I  had  to  go  and  gather  some 
so  that  my  clothes  might  be  dried  that 
night. 

"I  was  walking  down  the  road  with  my 
arms  filled  with  twigs  and  wood  when  I 
saw  the  strange  woman.  She  seemed  kind 
of  interested  in  me,  but  I  was  just  a  little 
bit  annoyed,  for  I  had  my  work  to  do,  and 
did  not  want  to  be  disturbed. 

"A  woman  I  knew  pretty  well  intro- 
duced her  as  Mrs.  Jackson,  and  I  stood 
and  talked  a  minute  and  then  told  her  ifi 
she  wanted  to  visit  with  me  she'd  have  to 
sit  down  and  let  me  go  ahead  with  my 
work.  I  was  out  of  money  and  had  to 
get  the  washing  done  as  quick  as  I  coulc 
to  get  a  dollar  or  two.  While  I  worked 
she  talked  to  me  and  asked  me  many 
questions.  I  did  not  think  I  was  ver) 
agreeable  to  her,  but  as  she  left  she  gave 
me  $2  and  asked  me  to  come  and  see  her 
when  I  went  to  Colorado  Springs. 

"I  never  had  any  intention  of  going  to 
see  her,  for  I  knew  she  was  a  grand  lady 
but  when  the  work  gave  out  in  the  moun- 
tains, Tommy  and  I  went  to  the  springs 
There  I  took  in  washing  for  some  people 
in  Consumption  Row,  and  Tommy  he  ran 
chores  for  others.  One  day  Mrs.  Jackson 
was  down  in  that  part  of  town  doing  some 
charity  work,  when  she  heard  of  Tommy. 

"She  wondered  right  away  if  it  was  my 
boy,  and  looked  us  up.  She  called,  and 
was  mortified  to  death  because  there  wa 
no  fire.  I  told  the  visitor  that  Tommy 
must  have  forgotten  to  order  coal,  and  she 
said  she  didn't  mind  the  cold,  but  a  littte 
later  that  day  a  ton  of  coal  came  to  us,, 
a  present  from  her.  She  wanted  us  to 
come  over  to  her  house  that  night,  ani 
she  had  her  cook  give  us  a  basket  full  of-: 
good  things  to  take  home.  We  took  to. 
going  over  there  often,  but  I  had  no  idea 


OBSCUKITY. 


259 


the  stories  I  told  her  would  ever  see  print.'"' 

"Grandma"  Varner  approached  the 
ninetieth  milestone  with  the  recollection 
of  having  experienced  fewer  comforts,  per- 
haps, than  any  living  person.  From  her 
childhood  days  the  fates  treated  her  un- 
kindly. Wihen  she  married,  back  in  Mis- 
souri, years  ago,  her  first  home  was  a 
cabin,  the  logs  of  which  were  so  far  apart 
that  the  cats  walked  through  the  aper- 
tures with  ease. 

A  ladder  ran  up  the  side  of  the  house  so 
that  water  could  be  carried  to  the  chimney 
after  each  meal  had  been  prepared  to  ex- 
tinguish the  flames. 

She  had  six  children,  of  whom  only  one 
lives.  There  is  also  a  great-grandchild 
playing  in  the  familiar  streets  of  Colo- 
rado Springs.  Two  sons  were  shot  down 
before  her  eyes  in  the  Civil  War.  Of  her 
husband  she  never  spoke. 

Her  story  of  how  she  happened  to  come 
to  Colorado  is  one  which  she  told  Mrs. 
Jackson. 

"Tommy  and  I  were  living  alone,"  she 
said,  in  telling  this  phase  of  her  story  a 
day  or  two  before  she  died.  "And  he  was 


sort  of  delicate.  I  took  in  washing  to  sup- 
port us,  and  one  day  the  clothes  came  to 
me  wrapped  in  a  newspaper.  The  paper 
told  all  about  Colorado,  and  I  remember 
reading,  'They  don't  die  in  Colorado ;  they 
have  to  kill  them  to  fill  the  graveyards.' 

"I  immediately  thought  of  Tommy  and 
of  the  chances  of  saving  him,  and  so  I 
sold  the  little  place  and  started  West 
with  a  horse  and  wagon.  My  box  con- 
taining my  household  goods  and  my 
feather  bed  became  too  heavy  for  the  old 
horse  to  pull,  and  a  man  we  met  on  the 
way  freighted  it  through  for  me  with  his 
things.  When  I  reached  Pueblo  I  could 
not  find  it,  and  it  was  a  year  later  that  it 
was  sent  me  from  some  place  in  Kansas. 
I  was  in  Las  Animas  then,  and  every  one 
in  the  town  knew  when  'Grandma's  box' 
arrived,  and  they  all  gathered  to  see  me 
open  it. 

"Yes,  it  was  a  hard  life  for  an  old  wo- 
man with  a  sick  boy,  but  I  am  all  right 
now;  Tommy's  well  and  strong,  and  as 
soon  as  God  is  ready  I  am  going  home  to 
rest." 

And  she  has  gone. 


OBSCURITY 


BY 


DONALD    B.    TOBEY 


kAME  glanced  a  moment  on  my  eager  face, 

And  placed  the  crown  upon  another's  head; 
Bereft  and  barren  seemed  the  petty  place 
Where  long  my  fretting,  fettered  footsteps  led. 

Until  one  day  in  Nature's  solitudes, 

I  found  companionship  and  learned  content. 

For  there  where  seldom  human  foot  intrudes 
Were  hidden  gems  proclaiming  His  intent. 

In  forest  fastnesses  the  orchids  hide, 

The  seas  hold  richer  pearls  than  any  mart, 

And  all  by  one  perfected  plan  abide — 
T  am  content  with  my  appointed  part. 


OUR    SURFMEN 


BY 


JOANNA    NICHOLLS    KYLE 


PHOTOGRAPHS    FURNISHED    BY    S.    I.    KIMBALL. 


OFF !  Here  he 
comes !"  A  simulta- 
neous burst  of  ap« 
plause  went  up  from 
a  handsomely  dressed 
group  of  men  and 
women,  members  of 
the  Clover  Club,  as- 
sembled in  one  of  Philadelphia's  largest 
hotels,  as  their  guest  of  the  evening  en- 
tered— bluff,  weather-beaten  Captain 
Mark  Casto,  who  has  risked  his  life  in 
volunteer  service,  taking  his  fishing  vessel 
out  to  the  stranded  steamer  "Cherokee/ 
to  assist  the  life  saving  crew  of  Atlantic 
City  then  struggling  against  fearful  odds 
to  rescue  her  passengers. 

We  catch  up  the  cry  and  echo  it:  Hats 
off  to  our  noble  life  savers !  Honor  to  the 
valiant  surfmen  who  guard  our  coasts ! 
Theirs  is  a  life  of  daily  hardship,  peril,  ex- 
posure and  exhausting  toil,  independent 
of  those  occasions  in  the  event  of  a  ship- 
wreck which  call  forth  acts  of  .super- 
human strength  and  heroism.  Our  little 
army  of  life-savers,  now  more  than  two 
thousand  strong,  are  enlisted  annually  for 
the  service  after  a  rigid  physical  exami- 
nation. They  reside  at  their  respective 


stations,  at  lonely,  desolate  localities,  iso- 
lated from  human  association — on  the  At- 
lantic and  Gulf  Coasts,  from  the  first  of 
August  to  the  last  of  May  (the  open  sea- 
son), on  the  lake  shores  from  the  opening 
of  navigation  early  in  the  spring  till  its 
close,  some  time  in  December,  on  the 
Pacific  Coast  throughout  the  entire  year, 
because  the  accidents  occurring  here  are 
due  to  independent  local  causes,  not  to 
changes  of  season.  Only  one  day's  absence 
from  duty  is  allowed  to  each  man  during 
his  year  of  enlistment.  Every  hour  of 
every  day  has  its  appointed  task — care  of 
the  station,  drill  with  the  beach  appara- 
tus, watch  from  the  tower,  and  drill  with 
the  life  boats,  the  last  always  a  hazard- 
ous performance,  not  infrequently  attend- 
ed with  drowning.  By  night,  patrol  of  the 
beach  is  maintained  in  spite  of  wintry 
storms.  Fighting  against  wind  and  rain, 
snow  and  darkness,  the  surfman  trudges 
on  his  beat,  ever  f^ert  to  warn  some  ves- 
sel from  running  into  danger  or  render 
aid  to  those  involved  already  in  disaster. 
No  words  can  measure  the  depth  of  un- 
speakable comfort  conveyed  by  that  crim- 
son flash  from  the  life  saver's  torch.  To 
the  ship-wrecked  it  announces  that  their 


OUR   SURFMEN. 


261 


distress  is  known  and  help  is  coming! 

The  first  rude  contrivances  for  saving 
life  and  property  on  the  seaboard  of  the 
United  States  were  established  by  the 
Massachusetts  Humane  Society,  in  1791, 
but  it  was  not  till  many  years  later  that 
our  Government  took  any  practical  inter- 
est in  this  work,  when  revenue  cutters 
were  ordered  to  cruise  along  the  shore  in 
winter  to  assist  merchant  vessels  in  pos- 
sible distress,  and  a  few  poorly  equipped 
stations  were  erected  at  points  of  special 
danger.  Thirty-six  years  ago,  Hon.  Sum- 
ner  I.  Kimball  was  appointed  Chief  of 
the  Revenue  Marine;  when  the  benevolent 
little  adjunct  to  his  bureau  found  an  en- 
thusiastic friend  and  patron.  Under  the 
direction  of  Mr.  Kimball,  life  saving  be- 
came an  important  feature;  its  area  was 
widely  extended,  and  finally,  through  the 
championship  of  Hon.  S.  S.  Cox,  in  the 
House  of  Representatives,  a  separate  bu- 


and  which  commanded  success  at  every 
move.  In  a  recent  interview  he  said :  "I've 
got  a  fight  on  my  hands  at  present.  I  am 
always  fighting  for  the  service,  I  believe. 
It  cost  me  a  twenty-year  battle  to  rid  it  of 
politics,  and  now  I'm  struggling  to  get 
a  bill  through  Congress  giving  us  a  re- 
tired list  like  the  army  and  navy.  The 
revenue  cutter  service  has  recently  been 
granted  a  retired  list,  and  I  think  our 
men  are  entitled  to  the  same." 

At  the  present  time  there  are  278  life 
saving  stations  in  the  United  States,  on 
some  portions  of  the  coast  placed  at  such 
short  intervals  that  they  form  chains  of 
continuous  posts  within  communicating 
distance  of  each  other,  while  in  contrast 
with  this  large  number  the  whole  Pacific 
Coast  has  but  seventeen.  True  to  its 
name,  this  coast  is  a  peaceful  one.  From 
the  port  of  San  Francisco  extending  south 
the  climate  is  so  bland  that  wrecks  are  of 


reau  was  created,  in  1878,  and  Mr.  Kim- 
ball in  recognition  of  his  exceptional  fit- 
ness for  the  post,  was  appointed  General 
Superintendent  of  the  Life  Saving  Ser- 
vice, a  position  which  he  still  occupies.  He 
is  an  indefatigable  worker  and  continues 
to  feel  the  same  warm  affection  for  his 
duties  that  characterized  his  early  efforts 


rare  occurrence,  while  the  northern  part 
of  the  seaboard  is  irregular,  bold  and  un- 
broken, and  contains  but  few  harbors.  The 
prevailing  winds  are  veritable  monsoons, 
and  blow,  not  towards  the  shore,  but  along 
its  line.  The  weather,  therefore,  is  easily 
forecast,  and  navigation  is  practically 
safe,  but  there  are,  however,  a  few  ex- 


THE  ORLEANS  CHEW. 


tremely  dangerous  points,  mostly  situ- 
ated at  the  entrance  to  important  har- 
bors. A  striking  illustration  of  these  facts 
is  the  bar  at  Humboldt  harbor,  California. 
Accidents  here  are  so  startlingly  sudden 
that  upon  one  occasion  a  schooner  cap- 
sized and  her  entire  crew  of  eight  men 
were  lost  before  any  attempt  could  be 
made  to  save  them.  The  masts  of  the  ves- 
sel were  snapped  by  contact  with  the  bar, 
and  she  was  turned  keel  uppermost — the 
whole  sad  affair  from  the  instant  she  was 
overtaken  by  the  destroying  waves  till 
she  was  drifting  a  helpless  wreck  having 
occupied  only  a  few  moments.  The  wind 
was  blowing  fresh  off  land  at  the  time,  but 
the  sea  was  rough  on  the  bar,  and  the 
captain  had  under-estimated  the  difficulty 
of  entering  the  harbor. 

One  of  the  finest  rescues  ever  enacted 
in  the  history  of  the  Life  Saving  Service 
took  place  at  this  locality.  Its  object  was 
the  steamer  "Weeott,"  having  on  board  a 
crew  of  seventeen  men  and  seven  passen- 
gers, December  1,  1899,  which,  attempt- 
ing to  cross  the  bar  at  Humboldt  Harbor, 
met  with  instant  and  appalling  catastro- 
phe. It  is  a  curious  coincidence  that  the 
steamer  "Chilkat"  stranded  at  the  same 
port  in  a  precisely  similar  manner  eight 


months  earlier  in  the  year.  The  captain 
of  the  "Weecott"  had  waited  nearly  an 
hour  for  a  flood  tide,  and  the  water  ap- 
peared to  be  smooth,  but  so  treacherous  is 
the  spot  that  just  as  the  vessel  reached 
the  outer  edge  of  the  bar  a  huge  comber 
of  green  water  burst  on  board  with  tre- 
mendous force,  smashing  in  the  after  end 
of  the  house,  staving  to  pieces  two  life 
boats,  floating  the  cabin  and  engine  room, 
and  carrying  away  part  of  the  rigging. 
In  another  minute  the  vessel  broached 
broadside  to  and  began  to  roll  with  fright- 
ful violence,  the  waves  breaking  over  her 
constantly,  while  a  powerful  current  be- 
gan to  carry  her  around  the  south  jetty. 
There  she  tossed  for  half  an  hour  before 
she  struck  the  rocks,  with  so  heavy  and 
sudden  a  shock  that  the  main  mast  went 
by  the  board  and  one  seaman  was  hurled 
from  the  rigging  to  the  deck  and  killed 
instantly.  It  was  now  pitch  dark,  and 
great  seas  were  rushing  over  the  deck, 
breaking  at  times  mast-head  high. 

Meanwhile  the  disaster  had  been  wit- 
nessed by  two  surfmen  in  the  watch  tower 
of  the  adjacent  life-saving  station,  who 
ran  to  give  the  alarm,  and  within  two 
minutes  a  boat  was  launched  and  being 
propelled  "with  all  the  energy  and 


DUE   SUKFMEN. 


263 


strength  of  willing  men  bent  on  sav- 
ing human  life."  They  made  marvelous 
speed,  but  attempting  to  pull  around  the 
end  of  the  jetty,  they  were  met  by  an  ugly 
sea  indeed.  Again  and  again,  with  dia- 
bolic opposition,  a  big  comber  would  pick 
up  the  resolute  little  bark  and  throw  it 
fifty  yards  astern,  but  the  men  tugged 
desperately  at  the  oars  for  half  an  hour, 
when  surfman  Nelson,  who  was  in  com- 
mand, observing  that  the  wreck  had 
worked  in  near  the  shore,  determined  to 
land  in  hopes  of  being  able  to  reach  her 
with  the  lines  carried  in  the  boat.  Pulling 
back  to  smooth  water,  the  surfmen  landed 
and  made  their  way  over  the  trestle 
abreast  of  the  wreck,  but  they  soon  dis- 
covered that  the  vessel  was  too  far  off  to 
be  assisted  without  the  beach  apparatus. 
Hailing  her  captain,  Nelson  told  him  to 
try  to  hold  on  for  half  an  hour,  while  he 
returned  to  the  station  for  the  necessary 
appliances,  at  the  same  time  warning  him 
against  the  risk  of  quitting  the  ship. 
A  scylla  and  charybdis  of  surf  and  rocks 
lay  between  the  ship  and  the  mainland. 
Back  to  the  station  sped  the  surfmen, 


loaded  the  beach  ^apparatus  into  their 
boat,  and  brought  it  to  the  nearest  land- 
ing. But  now  they  were  confronted  by 
the  necessity  of  hauling  it  up  from  the 
rocks  to  the  trestle.  Determination  and 
main  strength  overcame  this  obstacle,  and 
the  various  parts  were  then  parceled  out 
to  the  men,  keeper  Hennig  and  one  man 
carrying  the  heavy  whip  line,  the  inde- 
fatigable Nelson  shouldering  the  Lyle 
gun,  a  weight  of  fully  175  pounds,  and 
leading  the  way.  The  surf  was  breaking 
over  the  trembling  frame  work,  darkness 
—inky  black — enveloped  the  scene,  and  it 
was  almost  a  miracle  that  the  heavily  bur- 
dened men  ever  reached  their  destination. 
With  dogged  patience  they  tramped  on, 
for  every  moment  was  precious.  The  cap- 
tain of  the  doomed  vessel  had  answered 
that  he  could  probably  hold  on  half  an 
hour  longer,  but  had  implored  them  to 
make  haste.  The  life  savers  were  short 
one  man,  too,  for  hardly  had  they  landed 
when  they  came  across  a  disabled  man 
crying  out  for  help.  He  was  lying  in  a 
pool  of  water,  in  imminent  danger  of 
drowning,  and  surfman  Ericksen  had  been 


A   WRECK  OFF  CAPE  COD. 


CAPSIZING    TEST    WITH    THIRTY-FOUR    FOOT   LIFE   BOAT. 


detailed  to  take  charge  of  him.  After  ad- 
ministering a  stimulant,  Ericksen  took  off 
his  own  dry  woolen  shirt  and  put  it  on  the 
poor  fellow,  then  lifted  him  on  his  back 
and  carried  him  to  the  nearest  dwelling, 
an  arduous  task  in  the  darkness,  for  the 
path  was  long  and  cijcuitous,  around 
fences  and  rocks,  over  eand  hills  and 
through  pools  of  water  waist  deep.  The 
task  accomplished,  Ericksen,  though  half 
naked,  rejoined  his  mates  on  the  jetty, 
where  the  keeper  gave  him  another  woolen 
shirt,  as  he  was  himself  wearing  two. 

When  about  half  way  to  the  wreck,  the 
party  met  the  ship's  engineer  crawling 
shoreward  over  the  slippery  timbers,  but 
he  seemed  able  to  help  himself,  so  they 
only  hailed  him  with  a  word  of  encourage- 
ment and  passed  on  to  their  more  urgent 
work.  The  wreck  had  by  now  worked  in 
to  about  eighty  feet  from  the  trestle,  and 
five  sailors  had  taken  the  risk  of  jumping 
overboard  and  had  effected  a  landing.  A 
heaving  line  had  been  thrown  to  them 
from  the  ship  by  means  of  which  they  had 
hauled  out  a  two  and  a  half  inch  rope.  In 
this  rope  they  had  rigged  a  sling,  and 
with  the  rude  contrivance  had  proceeded 
to  bring  their  fellow  sufferers  ashore.  One 


of  the  ship's  crew  and  a  lady  passenger 
had  made  the  perilous  trip  in  safety,  but 
the  life  of  the  second  lady  who  attempted 
to  cross  the  maelstrom  had  been  sacrificed. 
After  she  had  been  dashed  out  of  the  sling 
by  a  breaker  the  line  had  fouled  among 
the  rocks  and  could  not  be  cleared.  The 
unfortunate  seamen  were  thoroughly  dis- 
'heartened  by  their  failure ;  the  trestle  was 
swaying  under  the  repeated  blows  of  the 
surf,  and  they  could  scarcely  keep  their 
footing,  when  the  arrival  of  the  life  sav- 
ing crew  inspired  new  hope  and  spirit. 
Communication  had  to  be  re-established 
with  the  wreck,  but  an  end  of  the  heavy 
whip-line  was  caught  up  by  one  of  the 
sailors,  a  powerful  fellow,  and  hurled 
successfully  on  board.  Eagerly  it  was 
seized  by  the  anxious  sufferers,  then  with 
an  impatience  bred  of  fear  they  hauled 
out  the  hawser  so  fast  and  persistently 
against  all  protestations  that  there  was 
no  time  to  adjust  the  breeches  buoy  block. 
Surfman  Nelsen  deftly  bent  a  bight  of 
the  whip  line  to  the  buoy,  and  let  it  go. 
His  after  testimony  in  the  case  says: 
"They  hauled  it  right  out  of  my  hands. 
We  were  not  men  enough  to  stop  them." 
There  was  no  delay  in  the  operations  from 


OUR   SUEFMEN. 


265 


that  time  onward.  Fourteen  persons  were 
taken  from  the  wreck,  the  captain,  as  is 
usual,  being  the  last  to  quit  his  ship.  He 
had  hardly  set  foot  upon  the  trestle  before 
"the  wreck  made  a  sudden  lurch  forward, 
a  heavy  sea  broke  over  her,  she  leaned  over 
to  one  side,  and  shot  away  out  of  sight." 
And  now  began  the  precarious  journey  to 
the  mainland,  nearly  a  mile  over  the  open 
frame  work  of  timbers  three  feet  apart, 
with  two  stringers  on  them,  where  any  one 
of  the  forlorn  company  might  fall  through 
and  be  lost.  Fireman  Quinn  had  a  broken 
leg  and  a  lady  passenger  was  suffering 
agonies  from  a  fractured  spine,  injuries 


The  currents  at  this  locality  are  capricious 
and  utterly  unreliable.  Even  in  calm 
weather  and  without  warning,  great  comb- 
ers arise  unexpectedly  and  pile  up  on  the 
river  bar,  extending  their  baleful  influ- 
ence within  the  estuary  and  threatening  to 
capsize  the  little  fleet  of  boats  engaged 
in  taking  salmon.  There  are  at  least  thir- 
teen hundred  of  these  tiny  craft  pursuing 
their  venturesome  vocation  daily,  each 
requiring  two  men  to  manage  it,  a  boat 
puller  and  a  net  tender.  As  the  remunera- 
tion of  these  poor  fishermen  depends  up- 
on their  diligence  during  a  short  period, 
are  supposed  to  be  more  plentiful  and 


WRECK    OP   SCHOONEB    ELWOOD   BTTBTON,   CAPE  COD. 


incurred  when  the  vessel  first  struck.  Both 
disabled  persons  had  to  be  carried,  but 
the  wharf  was  finally  reached  without  fur- 
ther mishap,  and  they  passed  on  board  a 
steamer  which  was  generously  offered  for 
their  use  by  its  owner  and  were  thence 
transferred  to  the  life  saving  station. 

Other  casualties  besides  those  which 
may  happen  to  large  vessels  are  provided 
against  by  the  life  saving  service.  At  the 
mouth  of  the  Columbia  river,  a  spot 
peculiarly  treacherous,  it  has  placed  two 
stations  to  guard  the  fishermen  who  come 
here  annually  for  their  catch  of  salmon. 


continuing  their  labors  far  into  the  night. 
Familiarity  with  the  dangers  of  their  call- 
ing also  renders  them  careless,  and  many 
a  life  would  be  lost  were  they  not  watched 
over  from  the  tower  on  the  bluff  at  Cap< 
Disappointment  Station.  In  case  of  need 
an  alarm  gun  is  fired,  and  the  surf  men's 
boat,  which  also  patrols  the  fishing 
grounds,  is  directed  to  the  spot  of  the 
casualty  by  signals.  At  a  meeting  of  the 
Council  of  Federated  Trades  of  Astoria, 
Oregon  in  1893,  a  vote  of  thanks  was 
they  naturally  incur  extraordinary  risks, 
sein  close  to  the  breakers  where  salmon 


OIJK   SUKFMEtf. 


267 


rendered  to  the  Cape  Disappointment 
crew  for  their  "heroic,  noble  and  grand 
work  in  rescuing  the  lives  of  fishermen  at 
the  risk  of  their  own." 

An  incident  of  which  the  life  saving 
service  may  well  be  proud,  while  it  mourns 
the  loss  of  a  gallant  leader,  was  the  "ven- 
ture in  which  Keeper  Henry  lost  his  life. 
It  was  made  in  behalf  of  the  ship  Eliza- 
beth, which  stranded,  February  21,  1891, 
on  Four  Fathom  Bank,  northwest  of  the 
entrance  to  San  Francisco  Bay,  ten  miles 
from  the  Fort  Point  life  saving  station,  a 
locality  clearly  beyond  the  reasonable 
scope  of  the  surfmen's  duties.  There  had 
been  some  dispute  between  the  captain  of 
the  Elizabeth  and  the  master  of  the  tug 
Alert  over  the  price  to  be  charged  for  tow- 
ing her  in,  and  an  agreement  was  not 
reached  until  the  vessel  was  in  imminent 
peril.  When  she  struck,  signals  of  dis- 
tress were  set,  and  another  tug  steamed 
to  the  assistance  of  the  "Alert."  The  cap- 
tain's wife  and  child  were  transferred  to 
the  latter  craft  in  safety,  but  when  the 
record  of  that  dreadful  day  was  written, 
Captain  Colcord  and  sixteen  of  his  crew 
were  numbered  with  the  dead.  A  third 
tug  arriving,  passed  her  hawser  to  the 
doomed  ship,  which  had  pounded  over  the 
shoal  and  was  afloat  again  with  the  loss 
of  her  keel  and  leaking  badly.  The  tes- 
timony of  Mate  Barclay,  one  of  her  sur- 
vivors, states  that  subsequently  the  ship, 
with  two  tugs  pulling  on  her,  was  driven 
rapidly  across  the  North  Channel — which 
is  very  narrow — directly  on  to  the  rocks, 
and  within  forty-five  minutes  she  was 
splintered  into  fragments.  Meanwhile,  her 
signals  had  been  seen  by  a  surfman  of  the 
Golden  Gate  Park  life  saving  station.  A 
tremendous  surf  was  breaking  on  the 
beach,  making  it  impossible  to  launch  a 
boat,  so  the  keeper  telephoned  the  situa- 
tion to  the  Fort  Point  crew,  advising  them 
to  go  to  the  rescue.  Keeper  Henry  bore 
the  reputation  of  a  cool,  courageous  and 
careful  man,  so  when  he  ordered  out  the 
life  boat  his  men  obeyed  with  absolute 
faith  in  their  leader,  although  the  dark- 
ness was  intense,  the  sea  sharp  and  choppy 
and  the  wind  blowing  in  gusts,  which 
mounted  to  hurricane  speed.  The  tug  Be- 
lief, on  being  hailed,  took  the  little  craft 
in  tow  and  proceeded  slowly,  shipping 
heavy  seas  until  Point  Bonita  was 


reached.  Here  the  master  of  the  tug 
stopped  and  strongly  urged  Keeper  Henry 
not  to  go  any  further,  declaring  that  it 
was  "blowing  a  living  gale  out  on  the 
Xorth  Channel,  and  no  boat  could  live 
outside  the  point."  Their  colloquy  was 
interrupted  by  a  powerful  sea  which  threw 
the  life  boat  partly  under  and  athwart  the 
bow  of  the  tug,  and  to  save  her  from  be- 
ing stove  the  crew  were  ordered  to  cut  the 
tow  line.  The  surfmen  gave  way  at  the 
oars  and  were  rapidly  swallowed  up  in  the 
darkness.  With  a  supreme  effort,  they 
kept  the  life  boat  off  the  rocks  toward 
which  the  fierce  gale,  the  strong  eddy  and 
the  heave  of  the  sea  were  driving  her,  and 
when  the  westerly  arm  of  Point  Diablo 
was  reached,  it  was  found  to  be  impossi- 
ble to  weather  it.  Fortunately  at  this 
moment  they  were  met  by  the  tug  Alert 
returning  in  a  crippled  condition  from  her 
struggle  to  save  the  Elizabeth.  She 
stopped  and  took  the  life  boat's  hawser,  al- 
though in  the  operation  of  making  it  fast, 
both  craft  were  momentarily  in  danger  of 
being  hurled  on  the  rocky  shore.  But  the 
two  boats  had  scarcely  gathered  headway 
when  the  life  boat  took  a  broad  sheer  and 
filled  with  water.  Her  rudder  was  broken 


SUMNER  I.  KIMBALL,  GENERAL  SUPER- 
INTENDENT LIFE  SAVING  SERVICE. 


268 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


and  Keeper  Henry,  wh/>  was  steering,  was 
washed  off  into  the  blackness  of  the  tem- 
pest. In  vain  the  surfmen  shouted  that 
they  had  lost  a  man  overboard;  the  roar 
of  the  sea  and  the  howling  of  the  wind 
drowned  their  voices  until  they  had  been 
towed  some  distance  beyond  the  spot  of 
the  accident.  The  captain  of  the  tug  then 
answered  that  it  was  too  hazardous  to  turn 
back  with  his  vessel  in  such  a  disabled 
condition;  so  the  devoted  surfmen  cut 
loose  once  more,  got  out  their  oars,  and 
went  back  alone  in  search  of  their  chief. 
But  the  enraged  elements  were  more  than 
a  match  for  even  such  indomitable  cour- 
age, and  the  men  were  finally  forced  to 
return  home  thoroughly  disheartened, 
leaving  the  fiends  of  Point  Diablo  to  re- 


land  on  a  raft,  but  about  a  dozen  individ- 
uals still  remained  on  the  sinking  vessel. 
Two  nights  had  passed,  and  her  hull  had 
broken  in  two.  The  men  had  taken  refuge 
in  her  foretop,  and  all  through  the  third 
day  they  watched  the  persistent  struggles 
of  the  indomitable  Bergman  to  reach  them 
— undaunted  by  squalls  of  snow  and  the 
fury  of  the  waves.  Once  his  boat  was 
capsized,  once  she  was  swamped,  but  the 
faithful  volunteers,  emulating  their  chief's 
example,  renewed  the  battle  till  night-fall. 
When  morning  dawned,  however,  all  need 
for  their  tireless  vigil  was  ended — the 
mast,  with  its  living  burden,  had  fallen 
during  the  night. 

In  telling  the  acts  of  heroism  performed 
by  our  surfmen,  it  must  not  be  forgotten 


A    WRECK    ON    THE    LAKES. 


joice  above  the  watery  grave  of  their  vic- 
tim. 

Volunteer  acts  of  heroism  and  self-de- 
votion irr  the  rescue  of  human  lives  are 
recognized  by  the  life  saving  service  the 
same  as  if  performed  by  surfmen  under  its 
jurisdiction.  A  gold  medal  was  awarded 
to  John  Bergman  for  rescuing  eighteen 
persons  from  the  wreck  of  the  steamer 
Takoma,  which  went  aground  four  miles 
from  Umpquah  river,  January  29,  1883. 
In  spite  of  dissuading  advice  from  seafar- 
ing men,  Bergman  went  out  twice  to  the 
wreck  with  five  companies,  volunteers  like 
himself,  and  at  each  trip  brought  in  a 
boat  load  of  human  beings.  A  number  of 
the  ship's  company  managed  to  reach  the 


that  women  have  helped  to  embellish  the 
records  of  the  life  saving  service.  Mrs. 
Martha  White,  a  resident  of  Chehalis 
County,  near  Gray's  Harbor,  Washington, 
had  made  it  her  noble  mission  in  life  to 
frequent  the  beach  in  quest  of  such  errands 
of  mercy  as  the  cruel  ocean  might  cast  at 
her  feet.  At  six  o'clock  on  the  morning  of 
January  29,  1892,  the  neighbors  of  this 
charitable  woman  roused  her  with  the  aw- 
ful news,  "A  ship  in  the  breakers."  Mrs. 
White  and  her  husband  made  all  haste 
to  go  down  to  the  beach,  carrying  with 
them  a  field  glass,  a  musket  and  a  piece  of 
cloth  for  a  signal.  But  the  gale  was  too 
strong  to  permit  the  shots  fired  being 
heard  out  at  sea,  so  Mr.  White  went  slow- 


ALL  READY. 


ly  up  the  beach  looking  for  any  unfortu- 
nate waifs  that  might  be  washed  ashore. 
While  her  husband  was  absent,  Martha 
White  stood  still,  gazing  intently  upon 
the  tumbling  mass  of  surf.  Suddenly  she 
descried  a  man  struggling  in  the  breakers, 
and  boldly  dashing  into  the  water,  she 
dragged  him  out  and  aided  him  to  walk 
to  her  dwelling.  Kunning  back  to  the 
shore,  she  perceived  another  sailor,  the 
unconscious  toy  of  the  surf,  and  fearlessly 
plunging  in  again,  she  floated  the  helpless 
body  to  land,  and  after  a  short  time  had 
restored  him  to  consciousness  and  placed 
him  under  shelter.  Once  more  she  re- 
turned to  the  scene  of  the  tragedy,  and 
discovered  a  third  sailor,  a  long  way  out 
in  the  breakers.  To  reach  him  was  a  des- 
perate undertaking,  but  the  courage  of 


the  noble  woman  did  not  quail  before  a 
task  of  which  she  fully  realized  the  dan- 
ger. Divesting  herself  of  some  of  her 
cumbersome  clothing,  she  threw  herself 
into  the  foaming  sea.  Once  her  life  was 
seriously  imperiled,  as  she  was  overthrown 
by  a  huge  comber,  but  regaining  her  foot- 
ing, she  came  alongside  of  the  man  and 
floated  him  to  shore.  She  managed  to 
drag  him  beyond  the  danger  line,  then 
fell  fainting  from  exhaustion  on  the  sand, 
where  she  lay  till  found  by  her  husband. 
The  rescued  men  who  were  the  sole  sur- 
vivors of  the  British  bark  Ferndale,  with 
the  frankness  of  English  sailors,  made 
oath  that  but  for  her  timely  and  self-sac- 
rificing assistance  they  must  have  died 
within  sight  of  land,  and  a  gold  medal 
was  awarded  to  the  heroic  woman. 


COLLEGE    AND    THE    WORLD 

A    SYMPOSIUM    OF    COMMENT    OK    THE    PROBLEM 
OF    HIGHER    EDUCATION 

AT  THIS  time  of  year  there  are  many  young  men  and  women  who  are  debat- 
ing whether  or  no  to  go  to  college.    Will  it  pay?  they  ask.    The  following 
three  articles  seek  to  answer  this  question  in  an  entirely  novel  way.  The  three 
divisions  completely  cover  the  field  of  opinion,  and  shoiv  the  different  view-points 
of  the  college  freshman,  the  graduate  and  the  successful  business  man  of  the  world. 
We  are  glad  to  publish  this  article  with  a  view  of  helping  some  possible  college  stu- 
dents settle  the  question  for  themselves. — 'EDITOR. 

A    BUSINESS    MAN'S     VIEW     OF    COLLEGE    TRAINING 


BY    HARRIS    WEINSTOCK 


HAVE  BEEX  asked  to 
tell  the  value  of  a  col- 
lege training  on  the 
young  men  that,  in 
my  business  career 
have  come  under  my 
notice. 

An  observer  of  mod- 
em coimiu'ivial  and  industrial  systems 
cannot  but  note  the  exacting  methods  now 
in  vogue.  He  cannot  but  observe  that  in 
all  great  commercial  and  industrial  en- 
terprises costs  and  profits  are  now  figured 
out  in  percentages  running  to  the  fourth 
figure.  The  observation  is  forced  upon 
him  that  the  keener  the  growth  of  com- 
petition the  smaller  the  margin  of  profit 
for  the  producer  and  distributor ;  and  that 


the  smaller  the  margin  of  profit,  the  more 
careful  and  exact  must  be  every  movement 
and  every  calculation  that  enters  into  com- 
mercial and  financial  transactions. 

The  day  of  the  careless  operator,  the 
loose  calculator  and  the  indifferent  worker 
is  gone  for  good  in  every  walk  of  life  and 
in  every  occupation  that  is  not  in  the 
nature  of  a  monopoly. 

This  means  that  the  business  world  of 
to-day  demands  men  who  are  exact  and 
thorough,  who  are  reliable  and  depend- 
able. The  business  world  demands  this 
and  more  besides.  It  demands  for  execu- 
tive and  managerial  positions  men  who  are 
not  only  exact  and  thorough,  but  who  can 
at  one  and  the  same  time  specialize  and 
generalize,  who  can  reason  backward  and 


COLLEGE  AND  THE  WORLD. 


271 


forward,  that  is,  from  cause  to  effect  and 
from  effect  to  cause. 

The  all-around  business  man  is  the  one 
who  can  theorize  as  well  as  practice,  who 
cannot  only  do  things,  but  who  can  ex- 
plain the  theory  or  the  philosophy  upon 
which  things  are  done,  who  can  take  an 
idea,  develop  and  exploit  it,  and  who  can 
also  take  a  proposition,  dissect  and 
analyze  it. 

A  man  who  has  entered  business  from 
the  grammar  or  high  school  may  learn  to 
do  all  this  in  the  course  of  a  great  many 
years  of  experience.  Here  is  where  the 
work  of  the  college  comes  in.  The  young 
man  who  has  put  his  four  years  in  college 
to  good  account  has  trained  his  mind  so 
that,  first  of  all,  he  should  be  able  to  con- 
centrate it  upon  any  given  task.  He  should 
have  cultivated  an  intellectual  machine 
that  can  dissect  and  analyze  any  proposi- 
tion that  may  come  before  him.  He  should 
have  taught  himself  to  reason  backward 
and  forward,  to  trace  out  the  causes  from 
effects  and  to  forecast  the  effect  of  cer- 
tain causes. 

With  the  sharpened  faculties  at  his  com- 
mand, he  should  learn  in  active  business 
life  in  five  years  what  it  is  likely  to  take 
the  man  with  the  untrained  mind  twenty 
years  to  learn. 

If  he  started  with  fair  mentality  and 
made  the  most  of  his  collegiate  opportuni- 
ties, his  years  of  study  have  therefore  sim- 
ply been  a  matter  of  putting  out  his  time 
where  it  is  likely  to  bring  him  compound 
interest.  So  that  after  all,  a  university 
training  should,  despite  long  years  of  pre- 
paration, prove  in  the  end  a  short  cut  to 
reach  the  best  practical  results. 

Business  alone  can  give  and  does  give 
admirable  training.  This  has  been  made 
evident  by  the  splendid  specimens  of  men 
to  be  found  everywhere  in  the  business 
world,  who  had  little  or  no  early  educa- 
tional advantages,  but  business  alone,  as 
a  rule,  does  not  give  the  best  training. 
That  comes  from  college  experience, 
broadened  by  actual  business  experience. 
The  blending  of  the  two  should,  as  a  rule, 
give  the  highest  type  of  men  of  affairs. 

Were  I  asked  whether,  in  my  opinion, 
all  college  men  are  likely  to  prove  to  be  of 
this  type,  I  should  answer  that  I  have  in 
my  time  met  college  men  whose  university 
training  seemed  to  have  proven  to  them  of 


great  value,  and  I  have  met  others  who 
could  not  have  been  less  fit,  if  their  col- 
lege years  had  been  spent  merely  in  count- 
ing beads.  So  much,  after  all,  depends 
on  the  man.  A  young  man  with  the  right 
sort  of  stuff  in  him  is  likely  to  land  in  the 
front  rank  of  like's  activities,  even  though 
he  be  a  graduate  of  a  third-rate  college,  or 
of  no  other  college  than  the  college  of 
"hard  knocks,"  and  the  chap  without  the 
stuff  in  him  will  fail,  despite  his  diploma, 
signed  by  the  president  of  the  greatest  col- 
lege in  the  land. 

Given  a  blade,  for  example,  made  out  of 
good  steel,  and  the  grind-stone  will  bring 
out  the'best  in  it,  and  perfect  an  edge  that 
will  do  things  to  surprise  the  beholder. 
But  given  a  blade  made  out  of  base  metal 
and  the  world's  finest  grind-stone  practi- 
cally fails.  So  it  is  with  the  student.  If 
he  has  wits,  and  brings  them  to  college, 
they  will  be  sharpened  and  his  powers 
will  be  increased.  If  he  is  barren,  the 
college  can  do  little  for  him. 

I  cannot  recall  one  instance  of  a  young 
man  entering  college  with  bad  habits,  low 
tendencies  and  poor  mentalities,  coming 
out  of  college  reformed  morally  or  sharp- 
ened intellectually.  Instances,  however, 
have  come  to  my  notice  where  young  men 
of  previous  good  habits,  have  been  unable 
to  stand  up  against  college  temptations, 
and  have  become  dissipated  in  college  and 
acquired  bad  habits,  and  despite  a  good 
mentality,  have  proven  a  keen  disap- 
pointment. The  things  most  to  be  feared 
from  a  college  course  is  the  undesirable 
habits  likely  to  be  acquired  while  there. 

By  a  careful  analysis,  however,  of  the 
biographies  in  America's  "Who's  Who,"  it 
has  been  found  that  although  but  one  per 
cent  of  the  men  of  the  country  are  col- 
lege bred,  they  represent  fifty  per  cent  of 
the  distinguished  men  in  the  various  walks 
of  political,  commercial  and  financial  life. 
This  is  a  wonderful  showing  for  the  col- 
lege. 

The  point  of  failure  noticeable  in  some 
college  men  who  have  taken  social  science, 
commercial  or  culture  courses,  is  theit 
lack  of  exactness,  the  want  of  thoroughness 
in  what  they  do.  The  problem  with  them 
seems  to  be  how  to  get  through,  rather 
than  how  to  perfect  their  work.  They  do 
not  seem  to  realize  that  it  is  better  to  eat 
little  food  and  have  that  well  digested. 


272 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


than  to  gobble  up  much  that  simply  clogs 
the  human  system.  They  seem  to  have 
cultivated  the  habit  in  college  of  getting 
through  the  task  in  hand  as  speedily  aa 
possible,  with  little  thought  of  master- 
ing it  in  detail.  These  habits  of  super- 
ficiality must  in  active  life  retard  their 
growth  and  impede  their  progress.  Next 
to  character  and  health,  the  most  valuable 
asset  that  any  man,  the  college  man  not 
excepted,  can"  have,  is  the  habit  of  doing 
things  thoroughly. 

One  of  the  great  marvels  of  the  pres- 
ent age  is  the  wonderful  strides  made  in 
the  direction  of  the  utilization  of  waste 
materials.  The  statement  is  made  that  in 
the  great  pork  packing  houses  of  the  coun- 
try everything  about  the  hog  is  utilized, 
except  the  squeal  and  the  curl  in  the  tail, 
and  it  is  said  there  are  hopes  somehow, 
somewhere  of  utilizing  even  these.  The 
great  achievement  of  the  coming  age  will 
be  the  utilization  of  waste  labor,  so  that, 
despite  the  shortening  of  the  hours  of  toil 
more  will  be  accomplished  by  each  indi- 
vidual giving  forth  his  highest  and  best, 
thus  tending  to  perfect  the  human  species, 
and  thus  also  increasing  its  earning  power. 

Herbert  Spencer  asked  the  question: 
"What  knowledge  is  most  worth  know- 
ing?" And  after  a  careful  analysis  of  dif- 
ferent kinds  of  knowledge  reached  the 
conclusion  that  science  is  the  knowledge 
most  worth  knowing.  Spencer's  conclusion 
is  as  true  to-day  as  when  he  uttered  it. 
The  most  effective  man,  as  a  rule,  is  the 
man  who  has  knowledge  that  has  been 
gained  and  verified  by  exact  observation 
and  exact  thinking."  It  is  for  this  rea- 
son that .  the  scientific  training  afforded 
by  an  engineering  course  is  of  inestima- 
ble value  in  many  walks  of  life.  It  does 
not  follow  that  a  college  man  who  has 
taken  his  degree  as  an  engineer  will  there- 
after be  exact  in  his  observations  or  in 
his  thinking. 

He  is  more  likely  to  be  so,  however, 
than  if  he  has  followed  any  other  colle- 
giate career.  The  mathematical  train- 
ing, which  an  engineering  course  enforces, 
the  exactness  and  correctness  imposed  by 
his  studies,  are  likely  to  tend  toward  hab- 
its of  thoroughness  and  rigid  mental  dis- 
cipline, which  must  prove  to  him  of  great 
value  in  any  walk  of  life. 

History    is    important.      Philosophy    is 


important.  Languages  are  important. 
General  culture  is  important.  Yet  were 
I  to  advise  a  young  man  about  to  enter 
college,  with  a  business  career  in  mind, 
I  should  urge  him  by  all  means  to  take 
an  engineering  course,  even  though  he 
should  not  intend  in  active  life  to  put  his 
scientific  training  to  professional  use.  I 
should  advise  him  to  take  an  engineering 
course,  not  only  for  its  mental  training 
and  discipline,  but  for  the  power  it  gives 
in  analysis,  the  love  that  it  cultivates  in 
him  for  being  exact  in  his  work  and  in 
his  statements. 

The  man  whose  mind  has  been  trained 
in  the  sciences  is  more  likely  to  be  the 
one  to  devise  ways  for  the  utilization  of 
waste  labor,  whose  keen  powers  of  obser- 
vation should  enable  him  to  see  weak  spots 
and  how  to  strengthen  them. 

What  the  world  is  more  and  more  de- 
manding is  efficiency,  and  all  other  things 
equal,  the  man  with  the  scientific  train- 
ing is  likely  to  be  the  most  efficient. 

The  weak  spot  in  most  men,  the  weak 
spot  as  a  rule,  in  college  men,  is  taking 
things  for  granted.  Science  strives  to 
prove  its  case.  As  a  rule  it  must  see  the 
bricks  before  it  will  believe  that  the  house 
will  be  built.  It  demands  proof  before  it 
reaches  conclusions.  The  men  to-day 
who  command  the  world's  highest  rewards 
and  who  are  of  greatest  service  to  their 
fellows  are  those  who  have  exact  know- 
ledge and  use  it  for  creative  purposes. 
What  is  called  unerring  judgment  is  not 
generally  intuitive.  It  is  the  result,  as 
a  rule,  of  the  most  exact  observation  and 
the  most  correct  thinking.  The  man 
whose  mind  has  not  been  disciplined, 
whose  thoughts  wander  hither  and  thither, 
who  cannot  analyze  a  problem,  who  acts 
from  impulse  and  not  from  reflection,  is 
not  in  a  mental  condition  to  observe  close- 
ly or  to  think  correctly.  At  best,  he  is 
likely  to  become  a  mere  putterer,  vacillat- 
ing in  thought  and  in  action.  To  be  a 
successful  doer  of  things,  one  must  first 
be  a  seer  of  things.  Euskin  says,  "Hun- 
dreds of  men  can  talk  for  one  who  can 
think;  thousands  of  men  can  think  for 
one  who  can  see.  To  see  clearly  is  poetry, 
philosophy  and  religion  all  in  one." 

In  the  decades  of  the  past  the  college 
man  seeking  commercial  employment  was 
discounted.  He  was  looked  upon  bv  prac- 


PRESIDENT   DAVID    STARR    JORDAN    OF    STANFORD  UNIVERSITY. 


274 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


tical  men  as  a  mere  book-worm,  unwilling 
to  begin  with  the  drudgery  at  the  bottom 
in  order  to  learn  business  from  the  ground 
up.  No  doubt  the.  air  of  scholasticism 
that  the  college  of  the  past  imparted  to 
its  graduates  justified  this  feeling  of  pre- 
judice against  the  holders  of  its  diplo- 
mas. There  are  some  countries  where  this 
feeling  may  be  justified  even  to-day.  It  is 
said  to  be  a  significant  fact  that  "a  large 
portion  of  Paris  cabmen  are  unsuccessful 
students  in  theology  and  other  professions 
and  unfrocked  priests,  and  they  are  very 
bad  cabmen."  But  the  American  college 
bred  man  of  to-day,  especially  the  college 
man  whose  mind  has  been  trained  in  the 
sciences,  as  a  rule,  is  of  a  different  breed. 
The  modern  college  earnestly  strives  to 
teach  men  how  to  think  and  how  to  do 
things.  Captains  of  trade  and  industry 
are  discovering  more  and  more  that  a 
young  man,  who  has  made  the  most  of 
his  time  during  his  college  years  is  so 
equipped  that  he  can  learn  in  five  years 
what  it  may  take  the  man  with  an  un- 
trained mind  about  twenty  years  to  ac- 
quire. 

The  college  of  yesterday  trained  men 
almost  exclusively  for  purposes  of  cul- 
ture. The  colleges  of  to-day,  especially 
the  scientific  branches,  strive  to  give  an 
education  for  efficiency.  It  has  been 
pointed  out  that  "the  man  with  brains 
needs  a  corresponding  degree  of  educa- 
tion. The  greater  the  natural  fitness,  the 
greater  the  need  for  thorough  training 
and  the  more  worthy  the  result/' 


The  business  world  of  to-day  more  than 
ever  before  is  seeking  efficient  men,  men 
who  know  the  correct  principles  of  inves- 
tigation, who  have  the  power  to  reason 
from  cause  to  effect,  and  from  effect  to 
cause ;  who  can  concentrate  attention  upon 
a  given  subject,  whose  powers  have  been 
quickened  and  developed.  All  other  things 
equal,  the  man  with  the  trained  mind  is 
more  likely  to  possess  these  qualifications, 
hence  is  also  likely  to  prove  the  more  effi- 
cient man. 

The  successful  men  of  the  next  genera- 
tion will  have  to  be  thoroughly  scientific 
in  their  methods.  Their  efficiency  will 
have  to  be  of  the  highest  and  they  will 
have  to  possess  the  faculty  of  bringing  out 
the  highest  efficiency  'in  their  subordi- 
nates. 

The  college  trained  man,  because  of  his 
adaptability,  his  quickness  and  alertness 
of  mind,  and  because  of  his  largely  in- 
creased numbers,  is  going  to  revolutionize 
conditions  in  the  coming  industrial  and 
commercial  world.  The  college  will 
strengthen  his  powers,  ripen  and  mature 
his  judgment,  raise  his  standards  and 
shorten  his  apprenticeship  in  the  field  of 
practical  affairs.  This  will  be  the  advan- 
tage he  will  gain  by  virtue  of  his  college 
training;  on  the  other  hand,  his  higher 
efficiency  and  his  shorter  apprenticeship 
in  the  world  of  practical  affairs,  will  be 
the  advantage  gained  by  the  business 
world  and  by  society  for  its  generous  sup- 
port of  its  numerous  schools  of  higher 
learning. 


JUST    OUT    OF    COLLEGE 

BY   DENISON    HALLEY    CLIFT 


F  WHAT   good   has     a 
college     education 
been  to  me?     Has  it 
been  worth  the  money 
spent,     the     valuable 
four  years  devoted  to 
it,  and,  what  is  more 
pertinent,   has    it   in- 
fluenced me  during  the  four  most  impres- 
sionable years  of  my  life  in  such  a  way  as 
to  develop  in  me  the  best  powers  that  I 


have  to  offer  the  world  and  society? 

These  are  questions  that  are  asked  by 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  vigorous,  prom- 
ising young  men  all  over  the  country  every 
spring.  They  involve  a  degree  of  serious- 
ness which  becomes  obvious  when  we  re- 
member that  thousands  of  young  men  are 
being  added  to  the  number  of  graduates 
of  our  American  universities  every  year. 

Is  a  college  course  worth  while?  Is  it 
a  good  investment  for  $2,000?  Will  such 


COLLEGE  AND  THE  WORLD. 


275 


a  training  enable  the  man  and  woman  of 
to-day  to  do  their  work  better  than  the  un- 
trained brother  and  sister  who  may  work 
beside  them  in  the  factory,  in  the  engi- 
neer's office,  in  the  newspaper  world? 

To  those  young  men  who  go  to  college 
to  better  themselves,  I  would  answer  most 
decidedly,  yes.  But  to  the  man  who  at- 
tends a  university  for  the  sport  that  is  in 
it,  for  the  dances  and  social  good  times 
that  college  brings  to  him — there  will  be 
nothing  in  it  for  that  fellow  but  the  im- 
mediate pleasure  of  college  society. 

A  college  community  is  a  world  in  itself, 
wherein  all  the  learning  and  culture  of 
the  past  is  brought  to  the  door  of  him  who 
will  enter.  But  the  memorizing  of  this 
learning  is  not  what  a  college  stands  for. 
The  subjects  of  study  is  only  the  vehicle 
by  which  the  aim  of  the  college  is  wrought. 
•It  is  in  the  methods  of  study,  in  the  train- 
ing of  the  human  mind,  that  the  real 
worth  of  our  universities  finds  its  ex- 
pression. The  American  college  does  not 
aim  to  fill  its  students  with  final  know- 
ledge on  all  subjects ;  it  tries  primarily  to 
arouse  and  develop  the  dormant  powers 
of  the  individual,  to  awaken  their  minds 
to  the  real  worth  and  value  of  the  achieve- 
ments of  their  fellow-men,  to  so  train  the 
intellect  that  it  will  know  in  just  what 
manner  a  piece  of  work  can  be  done  the 
best  and  the  quickest. 

Four  years  ago  a  freshman  class  entered 
Stanford  University  with  all  the  ambi- 
tions and  enthusiasms  of  first  year  stu- 
dents. In  his  welcoming  address  to  that 
class,  Dr.  David  Starr  Jordan,  the  beloved 
head  of  the  University,  told  them  what 
the  university  would  offer  them,  and  said 
he  hoped  they  would  take  advantage  of 
their  opportunities.  "And  after  you  have 
been  here  for  four  years,"  he  concluded, 
"you  will  come  to  realize  that  a  straight 
line  is  the  shortest  distance  between  two 
points." 

The  expression  was  a  striking  one,  but 
it  made  little  impression  then  on  those 
'  who  listened  to  it.  But  the  years  passed 
on,  we  became  more  mature,  we  began  to 
reap  some  of  the  benefits  that  were  given 
free  to  us,  and  when  at  last  we  stood  on 
the  threshold  of  the  world,  the  expression 
was  given  to  us  again.  And  then  we  un- 
derstood for  the  first  time. 

"The  shortest  line  between  two  points." 


That  is  the  key  note  of  our  modern  educa- 
tion. The  trouble  with  most  of  the  men 
of  this  world  who  are  occupying  menial 
positions  is  that  they  do  not  realize  that 
a  straight  line  is  the  shortest  distance 
between  any  two  points.  The  line  that 
they  draw  when  they  strive  to  connect  two 
points  is  a  very  crooked  one,  roundabout 
and  very  out  of  place. 

What  is  meant  by  drawing  this  straight 
line  is  simple  enough.  It  means  that  there 
is  just  one  effective  way  in  which  to  ac- 
complish a  given  task,  and  that  the  man 
who  understands  what  the  best  way  is,  is 
the  man  who  will  succeed  best  in  this  day 
of  keen  and  bitter  competition. 

The  aim  of  the  college  is  to  teach  the 
man  how  to  draw  the  straight  line,  and 
there  is  no  other  institution  in  the  world 
that  is  better  prepared  to  do  this  than 
our  universities. 

To  arouse  and  develop  a  man's  talents 
is  to  give  him  an  opportunity  to  find  out 
just  what  thing  he  can  do  better  than  any- 
one else,  and  then  to  train  him  until  he 
has  reached  the  maximum  o  f  per- 
fection. That  is  the  quality  of  a  man  that 
the  world  is  demanding  to-day.  This  is 
the  age  of  the  specialist,  and  the  man  who 
can  do  one  thing  better  than  every  one 
else  is  the  one  whose  success  will  never  be 
retarded. 

The  best  estimate  of  a  college  training 
that  has  ever  come  to  my  attention  is  a 
little  golden  book  by  President  Jordan, 
called  "College  and  the  Man."  No  man 
who  intends  going  to  college  should  neg- 
lect reading  it.  There,  in  the  soundest 
and  sanest  manner  is  set  forth  the  emolu^ 
ments  of  education. 

"The  whole  of  your  life  must  be  spent 
in  your  own  company,  and  only  the  edu- 
cated man  is  good  company  to  himself," 
is  one  of  the  many  basic  truths  of  the  vol- 
ume. I  wonder  how  many  readers  ever 
thought  of  that  before?  There  is  no  bet- 
ter method  of  making  yourself  agreeable 
company  for  yourself  than  through  the 
medium  of  higher  education.  Through 
the  portals  of  the  college  the  ages  are  laid 
before  you  in  one  grand  panorama;  the 
record  of  the  progress  of  civilization  is  told 
to  you  in  the  evolution  of  a  nation's  lan- 
guage; all  the  history  of  the  world  is  un- 
folded, from  the  dawn  of  civilization  to 
the  Renaissance,  with  its  gigantic  awaken- 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


ings,  to  the  present  age,  with  discovery  and 
advancement  marked  in  every  forward 
step  of  the  nations  of  the  world. 

From  the  standpoint  of  mere  culture 
that  is  reward  enough.  Your  education 
will  give  you  a  certain  understanding  of 
what  men  have  done  since  the  world  be- 
gan. You  will  know  just  how  the  nations 
have  stepped  forth  as  powers,  and  what 
elements  in  society  have  seeked  to  form  the 
degrading  characteristics  that  have 
brought  about  their  ruin.  All  this,  you 
say,  will  not  bring  you  a  larger  salary 
each  week  or  month.  Not  immediately — 
but  we  are  coming  to  that. 

The  individual  makes  the  nation,  makes 
society,  makes  up  the  character  of  the 
race.  If  the  race  is  to  be  one  of  rugged- 
ness  and  supremacy,  the  individual  must 
be  rugged  and  healthy-minded.  The  blood 
that  flows  through  the  veins  of  the  aver- 
age man  will  be  the  blood  of  the  nation. 
So,  as  has  so  painfully  often  been  pointed 
out,  in  the  education  of  the  individual  lies 
the  salvation  of  the  country. 

Nothing  can  better  bring  about  the 
amelioration  of  present  social  conditions 
than  higher  education.  Our  college 
softens  the  animal  man,  and  strengthens 
the  mental  and  moral  make-up  of  the  in- 
dividual. And  a  man  is  far  better  com- 
pany for  himself  after  he  has  spent  four 
years  at  college. 

The  college  will  do  only  what  the  man 
allows  it  to.  A  book  will  yield  only  so 
much  entertainment  and  profit  as  the 
reader  is  able  and  willing  to  get  from  it. 
But  all  the  entertainment  and  profit  is 
there  for  the  reader  to  take  freely. 

Still,  this  will  not  sufficiently  answer 
the  demands  of  the  layman  as  to  the  direct 
benefits  of  a  college  training.  How  will  it 
enable  us  to  make  more  money?  they  ask 
of  us.  What  will  we  get  back  from  our 
$3,000  investment  ? 

It  is  easy  enough  to  answer  this  if  the 
reader  will  only  be  willing  to  see  for  him- 
self. The  American  college  has  one  aim 
above  all  others  in  educating  its  youths. 
That  aim  is  to  so  train  and  drill  the  mind 
that  the  man  with  the  college  education 
will  know  how  to  go  about  a  given  task, 
and  how  best  to  accomplish  it  in  a  given 
time.  Life  is  made  up  of  a  million  tasks. 
The  man  who  best  does  these  things  is  the 
better  man.  No  one  will  doubt  this. 


Only  the  other  day  I  heard  a  business 
man  ask  a  college  graduate  a  question  in 
equity.  The  college  man  was  at  a  loss  for 
a  moment.  "Why,  you  ought  to  know; 
you're  a  college  man,"  jeered  the  business 
man.  But  that  was  no  particular  reason 
why  the  educated  fellow  should  have 
known.  He  isn't  supposed  to  know  every- 
thing. His  university  didn't  try  to  make 
a  walking  encyclopedia  out  of  him.  What 
it  did  try  to  do  was  to  teach  him  just  how 
to  find  the  answer  to  the  question.  And 
I'd  wager  ten  to  one  that  the  college  man 
would  know  instantly  where  to  turn  to 
find  the  answer,  where  the  business  man 
might  flounder  around  hopelessly. 

The  mind  of  the  college  man  is  trained 
to  know  how  to  do  things.  .He  knows  that 
a  straight  line  is  the  shortest  distance  be- 
tween two  points  and  he  draws  the  straight 
line.  That  is,  he  does  if  he  has  gotten  out' 
of  college  what  he  should  have  gotten. 
Every  college  man  is  not  better  than  the 
uneducated  man.  The  college  only  fur- 
nishes the  opportunity.  The  man  must 
have  the  brains  and  the  faculties  for  learn- 
ing and  acquiring  how  to  do  things. 

In  most  of  the  professions  of  San  Fran- 
cisco the  university  men  are  the  more 
prominent.  In  all  the  newspaper  offices, 
men  from  Stanford  and  the  University  of 
California  are  at  the  head.  Among  doc- 
tors, lawyers  and  leading  business  men 
the  college  man  occupies  a  prominent 
position.  They  are  able  to  do  in  five  years 
what  it  takes  the  uneducated  man  fifteen 
or  twenty  years  to  dig  out  for  himself. 
The  university  man  knows  how  to  draw 
the  straight  line  between  two  points.  He 
has  been  trained  to  think.  The  routine 
of  his  college  days — if  he  has  gotten  the 
most  out  of  it — should  enable  him  to  see. 
His  minds  and  wits  are  sharpened.  His 
brain  is  a  regular,  clock-like  machine.  He 
can  look  ahead  and  see  the  result  of  his 
efforts.  His  mind  has  been  made  accu- 
rate. He  does  not  vacillate  weakly.  He 
is  able  to  grasp  facts,  to  reason,  to  ob- 
serve, better  than  the  brother  who  has 
worked  the  thing  out  alone. 

In  addition  to  this  the  college-bred  man 
is  able  to  put  a  value  on  the  work  of 
others.  He  can  tell  the  worth  of  a  man, 
because  he  has  the  criterion  of  the  ages  to 
judge  by.  He  does  not  worship  false 
gods  in  his  ignorance.  He  knows  a  thing 


COLLEGE  AND  THE  WORLD. 


277 


is  good  because  his  college  work  has  given 
him  the  best  that  the  world  can  offer  to 
judge  by;  he  can  tell  what  is  bad  for  the 
reason  that  he  knows  what  such  a  thing 
should  be.  His  mind  is  thoroughly  awak- 
ened. He  knows  the  quickest  way  to  solve 
a  mathematical  problem  because  he  knows 


would  shun,  and  much  that  I  would  do 
that  I  neglected  to  do.  The  four  years 
spent  at  Stanford  or  the  University  of 
California,  or  any  other  college,  are  the 
best  years  of  a  man's  life.  Nothing  is 
asked  of  him  but  soundness  of  character 
and  an  attitude  of  willingness  to  learn. 


PRESIDENT    BENJAMIN    IDE    WHEELER    OF  THE   UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA.  * 


a  great  deal  about  mathematics,  more 
than  he  really  needs  to  know  to  solve  this 
particular  problem. 

A  man  never  appreciates  his  alma  mater 
until  he  has  graduated.  Were  I  to  go 
to  college  again  there  is  much  that  I 


Everything  is  offered  to  him;  the  gates 
are  freely  opened  to  him  who  will  enter. 
And  having  once  entered,  he  will  be 
thrown  among  men  of  all  classes.  There 
will  be  rich  young  fellows  whose  only  am- 
bitions are  to  sport  and  enjoy  a  high  old 


278 


OVERLAND  MONTHLY. 


time.  These  butterflies  and  namby- 
pamby  youths  are  the  blood-suckers  of  a 
university.  They  are  parasites  who  usu- 
ally lack  real  ambition,  and  after  their 
two  or  three  flighty  years  are  over,  you 
will  never  hear  of  them  again,  unless  it 
be  in  an  automobile  scandal  at  midnight. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  back-bone  of  the 
nation  will  be  found  at  the  American 
universities  to-day.  These  men  are  the 


men  who  go  to  a  college  because  they 
realize  that  a  college  training  will  allow 
them  to  get  higher  up  in  this  world  of 
ours.  These  fellows  are  not  sent,  as  Dr. 
Jordan  points  out  in  his  valuable  book. 
And  after  ail  is  said,  the  fellow  who  sac- 
rifices something  and  struggles  to  get  his 
college  training  is  the  fellow  whom  you 
and  I  will  hear  from  five  or  ten  years 
from  now. 


THE     QUADRANGLE,     STANFORD     UNIVERSITY. 

WHY    I    AM    GOIl^G    TO    COLLEGE 

BY    BERTRAM    WELLS 


AM  almost  too  ashamed 
to     write     this,     and 
were  it  not    for     the 
fact  that  hundreds  of 
others  are  in  the  same 
position    that   I    now 
find  myself,   I  would 
not.     The  editor  has 
asked  me  why  I  am*  going  to  college,  and 
I  must  answer,  I   don't  know.     I  enter 
in  August,  when  the  class  of  1911  makes 
its  bow  to  the  academic  world,  but  that 
is  because  my  parents  have  chosen  so,  not 
for   any   very   definite     reason     of     my 
own. 
There  is  a  certain  joy  in  being  able  to 


call  oneself  a  college  man,  and  that  may 
account  for  my  docility  in  being  led  to 
slaughter.  An  infinite  amount  of  respect 
seems  to  be  commanded  by  the  fellow  who 
wears  a  numerald  watch-fob,  talks  of 
"rushes,"  "booze-fights,"  and  "queens," 
and  strides  along  in  baggy  trowsers,  with 
a  bull-dog  pipe  between  his  teeth.  The 
rest  of  the  world  looks  up  to  him;  the 
newspapers  talk  about  him;  his  position 
excuses  a  multitude  of  sins.  The  college 
man  lives  in  a  world  of  his  own,  and  as 
long  as  he  stays  there,  may  do  things 
nobody  else  would  dare  to  do.  When  he 
emerges  he  may  talk  of  these  doings  and 
the  tone  of  his  voice  as  he  does  so  has  a 


COLLEGE  AND  THE  WOELD. 


279 


subtle  charm  to  the  outsider,  and  creates 
an  envy. 

Or  curiosity?  Perhaps  it's  that.  The 
college  man  home  on  a  vacation  .speaks  of 
"ax  rallies/'  "plug-uglies/'  "night-shirt 
parades/'  until  you  want  to  know  more. 
But  his  .explanations  are  futile;  you  must 
see  these  things,  live  with  them,  partici- 
pate in  them,  before  you  can  understand 
the  spirit  infused.  All  the  explaining  that 
the  enthusiastic  university  fellow  may  give 
does  no  more  than  heighten  curiosity. 

Therefore,  I  say,  perhaps  it  is  this  curi- 
osity that  brought  no  protest  from  me 
when  college  was  broached.  I  am  curious 
to  know  why  dignified,  almost-men  can 
lower  their  pride  to  take  part  in  child-like 
rushes  and  plug-uglies;  curious  to  know 
the  spirit  that  rouses  them  to  the  point 
of  foolishness;  curious  to  know  how  it 
feels  to  be  an  insider. 

The  life  itself  is  an  unconscious  draw- 
ing card.  The  college  student  lives  as  no 
other  part  of  humanity  lives;  and  he 
lives,  in  the  slang  sense  of  the  word.  He 
has  no  regular  hours,  which  is  an  attrac- 
tion far  beyond  many  others.  He  may 
have  classes  all  morning,  and  be  free  in 
the  afternoon;  or  he  may  have  three 
classes  on  Monday,  Wednesday  and  Fri- 
day, and  two  on  Tuesday  and  Thursday, 
with  his  afternoons  off.  Some  of  the  un- 
lucky ones  work  from  morning  till  night. 
But  whatever  the  hours,  they  are  irregu- 
lar, which  means  the  student  may  rise 
when  he  wishes,  dine  as  he  will,  and  do 
what  he  wants  at  almost  any  time  of  day. 
In  the  afternoons  he  may  be  a  spectator 
on  the  grand-stand  and  watch  the  teams 
practice,  or  he  may  go  to  town  and  spend 
his  time  and  his  money  in  various  ways. 
His  evenings  are  given  over  to  pleasures 
beyond  mention.  If  he  is  a  fraternity  man 
he  sits  around  huge  fireplaces,  swapping 
stories  and  talking  of  his  plans;  or  he 
queens,  which  is  college  slang  for  asso- 
ciating with  co-eds.  The  man  outside  the 
fraternities  has  his  societies  and  his 
clubs.  Dancing  and  dramatics  are  a  big 
help  in  passing  time.  To  sum  it  all  up, 


college  life  is  a  thing  of  beauty  and  a 
joy  forever,  and  it  may  be  that  which  at- 
tracts me. 

But  all  those  things — the  joy  of  being 
able  to  call  oneself  a  college  man;  the 
curiosity  of  the  thing,  the  life  are,  after 
all,  only  incidental  to  what  has  just  come 
into  my  mind.  I  think  I  have  found  my 
great  reason  for  going  to  college — have 
found  it  in  the  fact  that  I  am  big  and 
strong  and  healthy — have  found  it  in 
sport. 

Athletics  are  paramount  at  college.  No 
matter  the  institution,  or  the  situation, 
sports  hold  first  place  in  every  student's 
mind — be  he  laggard  or  "grind."  A  uni- 
versity is  known  by  the  athletics  it  keeps. 
Deep  in  the  heart  of  every  high-school 
youth  is  instilled  a  burning  desire  to  one 
day  be  the  idol  of  a  hero-worshipping  col- 
lege student  body,  and  he  knows  that  the 
successful  athlete  is  the  only  man  who 
can  obtain  such  pre-eminence.  Long  ago 
I  was  fired  with  that  ambition  through 
seeing  bleacherites  go  mad  over  a  great 
play,  and  through  newspaper  accounts. 
The  desire  has  grown  with  my  age,  until 
this  minute  I  find  that  it  is  almost  for  the 
sake  of  athletics  alone  that  I  am  going  to 
college,  without  first  asking  myself  why. 

As  for  study,  I  can  say  little.  College 
talk,  I  have  heard,  dealt  with  athletics 
and  the  life.  The  papers  contain  nothing 
in  the  way  of  university  news  outside  of 
scandal,  small  talk  and  sport;  and  the  col- 
lege man  never  speaks  of  his  books  when 
away  from  them.  And  so  I  cannot  say 
that  I  go  to  college  to  learn,  though  I  sup- 
pose I  shall. 

The  other  day  I  was  talking  to  an  un- 
successful college  man — one  of  the  many 
"graduates  by  request,"  who  manage  to 
stay  in  college  a  year  or  so,  and  then 
"flunk."  He  sneered  when  I  told  him  of 
my  plans.  "A  freshman,"  said  he,  "is  a 
fool;  and  fools  rush  in  where  angels  fear 
to  tread."  Throw  out  the  athletics,  and 
perhaps  that  is  why  I  take  up  my  parents' 
choice,  and  ask  no  questions.  I  say  per- 
haps, for  I  don't  know. 


THE    GOLD    OF    SUN-DANCE 
CANYON 

BY    C.    JUSTIN    KENNEDY 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  CLYDE  COOKE. 


ARVEY  STEWART 
shifted  sullenly  be- 
side the  camp  fire. 
Why  was  it  she  could 
not  let  him  alone?  It 
was  gold,  gold  he 
wanted.  For  years 
he  had  wandered 
through  the  Rockies,  and  the  Selkirks, 
and  the  Gold  Range,  seeking  at  eternal 
sacrifice  of  self  the  yellow  lodes ;  starving, 
sweating,  freezing,  with  never  a  gleam  of 
comfort  or  of  color,  suffering,  yet  faithful 
always  to  the  quest.  And  then  for  her  to 
write  to  him,  chidingly,  reproachfully,  as 
though  the  life  he  led  were  happiness,  and 
not  despair.  She  talked  of  the  full,  far 
freedom  of  the  mountains,  that  was  his ! 
Little  he  cared  for  the  mountains  or  their 
freedom,  save  only  for  the  gold  they  held : 
his  was  no  soul  of  mystery,  that  craved 
the  sweetness  of  the  wilderness. 

"And  yet,"  he  muttered,  "she  writes 
and  writes  and  writes,  'enjoying  your  life, 
while  I  am  left  here,  all  alone,  with  no 
friends,  nothing.'  Nothing,  indeed!  As 
if  she  hadn't  every  comfort  and  conven- 
ience, and  me  exposed  to  every  kind  of 
hardship." 

He  snatched  the  letter  from  his  pocket 
and  crumpling  it  angrily,  threw  it  in  the 
flames. 

"What  in  hell  did  she  marry  me  for, 
if  she  couldn't  stand  it?" 

But  a  sudden  sense  of  heartlessness 
struggled  in  his  breast,  and  he  snatched 
up  a  stick  to  pull  the  letter  from  the  fire ; 
it  was  too  late,  the  paper  was  in  ashes. 
"Poor  little  girl,"  he  thought,  relenting, 
"if  she  knew  that!" 

"Please,  please,  Garvey,"  she  had  writ- 
ten, "come  back  to  me — I  cannot  stand  it. 
I  am  so  tired,  so  tired.  I  have  waited 


all  alone  for  six  months.  A  woman  can- 
not stand  those  things,  especially  when  she 
loves  a  man.  Oh,  Garvey,  can't  you  un- 
derstand? I  am  so  tired.  I  know  I  told 
you  it  would  be  all  right,  when  you  took 
me  from  home,  but  a  woman  will  tell  a 
man  anything  to  get  the  object  of  her  love, 
and  it  is  so  much  harder  than  I  thought." 

So  she  went  on;  she  wanted  him  to 
come  back  and  take  her  away  from  the 
city ;  she  was  not  used  to  that ;  she  wanted 
to  go  over  in  the  Yakima,  where  men  had 
come  upon  the  desert,  and  building  in 
their  flumes,  drawn  water  from  the  moun- 
tains, until  to-day  the  sands  were  fragrant 
with  the  bloom  of  orchards  and  the  dust 
had  turned  to  sward.  Aye,  she  craved  the 
sunshine  and  the  sweetness  of  it  all.  But 
he  would  not  come ;  the  gold,  the  gold  was 
what  he  sought,  and  the  momentary  love 
of  woman  was  as  ashes  in  his  heart,  a 
faded  thing.  The  very  cruelty  of  that 
trifling  act,  the  burning  of  the  letter,  had 
worked  its  own  reaction.  All  that  night 
he  lay  upon  the  blankets,  restless;  the 
starlight  sifted  lightly  through  the 
spruces,  and  the  great  white  peaks  loomed 
strangely  through  the  Northern  night, 
but  these  things  had  no  mystery  for  Stew- 
art; they  did  not  clutch,  as  the  gold-thirst 
did. 

But  at  least,  unconsciously,  he  softened 
in  their  presence,  and  humanity  had  its 
way.  He  would  go  back  for  a  little  while. 
At  dawn  he  started  through  the  woods, 
going  light.  He  could  not  give  much 
time,  and  had  cached  such  things  as  might 
have  hindered  him,  together  with  his  pros- 
pecting outfit. 

All  day  long  he  tramped,  stopping  sev- 
eral times  to  examine  rocks  that  seemed 
to  indicate  a  vein,  but  turned  out  barren. 
At  night  he  built  a  fire  of  duff  and  pine- 


THE   GOLD   OF  SUN-DANCE   CANYON. 


281 


wood,  made  a  meal  of  bacon,  beans  and 
coffee,  and  then  sat  back  to  smoke.  At 
times  he  was  tempted  to  return,  but  the 
incident  of  the  letter  seemed  always  to 
bring  back  the  censure  of  his  heartless- 
ness:  but  even  then  a  straw's  weight  might 
have  turned  the  balance.  He  shut  the 
girl  from  his  thoughts,  and  as  forcibly  re- 
fused to  notice  further  what  signs  there 
were  of  metal  in  the  rocks. 

Some  few  hundred  yards  away,  a  moun- 
tain ridge  rose  steeply,  and  at  the  base  he 
spied  a  Stoney  Indian  camp  of  half  a 
dozen  wigwams,  nestled  in  the  shelter  of 
the  valley. 

At  that  very  moment,  as  he  was  figur- 
ing out  the  purpose  of  their  presence, 
there  came  a  low,  deep,  smothered  rumble, 
and  then  the  rattle  of  a  multitude  of 
stones,  and  glancing  quickly  upward,  he 
discovered  that  a  snow-slide  had  begun 
upon  the  mountain;  it  was  not  as  large 
as  the  slides  that  frequently  occur,  but 
even  so,  the  great  white  sheeted  mass, 
starting  at  the  summit  of  the  mountain, 
tore  out  great  rocks  and  logs  and  boulders, 
and  sweeping  down  terrifically,  snapped 
off  the  pines  that  blocked  it,  and  hurled 
itself  in  awful  chaos  and  confusion  upon 
the  Indian  lodges. 

Stewart  leaped  up  and  rushed  across 
the  little  stream  that  wound  between  the 
lodges  and  his  camp.  There  seemed  to  be 
no  further  danger,  as  the  slide  was  but  a 
short  one,  and  already  over,  but  he  found 
the  lodges  wrecked,  and  several  Indians 
killed  and  buried  in  the  debris;  only  one 
of  them  was  left  alive,  a  squaw,  but  even 
she  had  had  her  right  arm  broken,  and 
suffered  serious  bruises. 

Stewart  carried  her  across  the  stream, 
out  of  possible  danger,  as  another  snow- 
slide  might  occur  at  any  moment. 

AS  well  as  he  knew  how,  in  that  un- 
skilled way  which  answers  for  the  peril 
of  the  mountains,  he  set  the  fractured 
member  and  bound  up  the  wounds,  the 
squaw  being  scarcely  conscious  of  what  he 
was  doing.  Then  he  returned  to  the 
lodges,  but  everything  was  ruined  or  bur- 
ied, and  there  was  nothing  of  the  Indians' 
simple  possessions  that  he  could  save. 

When  he  went  back  to  his  own  camp, 
Garvey  Stewart  was  puzzled  what  to  do. 
He  had  started  home  only  out  of  sullen, 
grudging  pity  for  the  girl  who  begged 


and  pleaded  so  unhappily;  but  now  he 
found  himself  perplexed  anew.  Surely 
he  could  not  leave  this  Indian  woman 
alone  and  helpless?  He  had  but  scant 
respect  for  Indians  as  a  general  thing, 
yet  still  it  was  a  life,  and  human,  and 
somehow  asked  for  succor.  But  much  as 
Margaret  yearned  for  his  return,  deeply 
as  she  needed  him,  Stewart  felt  instinct- 
ively that  she  would  not  grudge  him  this 
delay,  and  eventually  he  decided  to  re- 
main. 

With  easy,  practiced  skill,  he  fashioned 
tepees  for  the  woman  and  himself,  and 
having  but  a  scant  supply  of  food,  de- 
pended on  the  forest  and  the  rivers  for 
provisions.  Faithfully  he  attended  to  his 
patient's  wants,  and  washed  and  bound 
the  bruises.  The  Stoney  squaw  had  ap- 
pealed more  easily  to  pity  than  the  white 
girl,  although  perhaps  the  latter  was 
equally  in  need  of  it. 

Thus  the  days  wore  on,  until  the  squaw 
was  less  dependent,  and  one  night,  as  they 
sat  before  the  wigwams,  partaking  of  a 
forest  supper,  Stewart  addressed  her,  as 
he  always  did,  in  broken  English. 

"Takaho,  to-morrow — me  go  way,  home 
— you  go  back  to  Injun  people."  The 
woman  started.  "No,  no  go  way,  you.  Me 
want  you  stay." 

"What  for  me  stay?  No  use.  You  all 
right  now.  I  go  to-morrow,  sure." 

The  Indian  woman  hesitated;  for  a 
long  time  she  gazed  into  the  flames  ab- 
stractedly, and  at  length  raised  her  eyes 
to  Stewart  pleadingly. 

"No  leave  Injun  woman.  No  go  way 
off.  Injun  woman  want  you  stay." 

Stewart  felt  a  little  sorry  for  her,  and 
asked  her  unsuspectingly :  "How  long  you 
want  me  stay?" 

The  squaw's  eyes  seemed  to  burn  across 
'the  shadow  to  his  own,  as  she  bent  for- 
ward, whispering  passionately: 

"All  time,  stay  all  time.  Wfhite  man  too 
good  Injun  woman.  Stay  all  time — me 
got  have  him.  No  go  way  off." 

Stewart  stared  in  mute  surprise.  What 
would  he  say  to  her?  He  found  it  difficult 
to  rouse  affection  for  a  white  girl,  attrac- 
tive as  she  was;  but  as  for  ever  feeling 

warmly  towards  squaws Some  men 

seemed  to  find  them  quite  attractive,  but 
for  his  part,  they  were,  well^just  Injuns. 
That  was  the  only  way  he  could  express 


HE   HAD   FORGOTTEN    THE    LETTEE   AND    ITS    ASHES." 


it.  He  answered  carelessly,  to  show  his 
lack  of  interest. 

"~So,  no,  me  got  wife,  home;  she  sick, 
too;  me  go  way  to-morrow.  You  go  back 
your  people."' 

But  the  squaw  was  obdurate,  and 
pleaded  that  she  had  no  people ;  they  were 
killed,  and  she  could  not  leave  the  white 
man;  he  had  been  too  good  to  her,  and 
she  loved  him:  Stewart  did  not  heed  her, 
but  insisted  he  must  go  to-morrow,  and 
finding  her  too  persevering  for  his  com- 


fort at  last  he  turned  into  his  wigwam, 
and  to  all  appearances,  at  least,  was  soon 
asleep. 

But  the  Indian  woman  would  not  yield; 
^he^  had  never  known  a  man  so  kind  be- 
fore, and  she  could  not  give  him  up.  All 
night  she  sat  by  the  sputtering  driftwood 
fire,  swaying  to  and  fro,  clutching  at  some 
fragile  means  to  hold  the  white  man  for 
herself.  Was  not  she,  too,  a  woman,  that 
would  not  be  rejected?  Suddenly  at 
early  dawn,  when  the  forest  rustles  ceased, 


THE   GOLD   OP   SUN-DANCE   CANYON. 


283 


and  an  eagle  screamed  uproariously  from 
a  fire-scarred  pine,  she  rose,  and  going 
across  to  where  Stewart  lay,  waked  him 
gently. 

"White  man  stay,"  she  said,  tenta- 
tively. 

Stewart  rolled  over  sleepily.  "Me  go 
to-day,"  he  answered  bluntly. 

The  Indian  woman  bent  down  and  whis- 
pered :  "White  man  like  gold,  huh  ?" 

Stewart  turned  upon  her  questioningly. 

"Look  for  gold  long,  long  time;  never 
find  him,  huh?" 

Stewart  grunted  acquiescence;  he  had 
told  her  that  in  their  camp-fire  talks,  and 
could  not  contradict  it. 

"Takaho  know  big  gold — plenty  gold, 
plenty  big  oh — many  people." 

The  prospector  sat  up  uneasily.  Was 
she  lying;  was  this  a  trap? 

"White  man  marry  Takaho — she  take 
him  big  gold."  She  waved  her  hand  sig- 
nificantly. "Way  off  mountain — what  you 
call  him,  Sun-Dance  Canyon." 

Garvey  Stewart  leaped  to  his  feet  and 
caught  the  Indian  woman  by  the  shoul- 
ders. (He  had  forgotten  Margaret,  for- 
gotten the  letter,  and  its  ashes,  forgotten 
her  unhappiness.  Here  was  gold!) 

"Takaho,"  he  said,  fiercely,  "if  you  lie 
to  me  I  will  shoot  you,  you  hear?  Cum 
tux?" 

She  smiled  meaningly.  •  "Me  tell  truth, 
sure." 

"How  big,  how  big  is  this  mine,  this 
gold?"  he  continued. 

The  woman  stretched  her  arms  far 
apart,  and  then  pointed  from  the  wigwam 
to  the  mountain.  Little  she  recked  of  that 
other  love,  the  precious  passion  of  the 
white  girl's  breast;  little  she  thought  of 
the  pity  and  the  pain,  the  hopeless,  hate- 
less  dragging  out  of  life,  lonely  and  alone, 
down  in  the  brick-locked  city  where,  from 
the  quarters  of  the  globe,  had  huddled 
profligates  and  fools. 

And  Stewart?  Aye,  neither  with  him 
was  reckoning  or  compassion.  "Come 
on."  he  called  thickly. 

The  woman  fell  upon  him,  passionately, 
kissing  the  bearded  face  over  and  over 
again  with  still  unsated  lips. 

".I/;?/  man,  my  man?"  she  mumbled,  and 
looked  up  at  him  in  yet  fearful  question- 
ing. 

"Yes,"  he  muttered.  "How  far— how 
far?" 


"Way  off  mountain,"  she  replied.  "Sun 
Dance  Canyon." 

Together  they  dashed  along  the  river 
bank — hand  in  hand,  for  she  would  have 
it  so,  despite  the  heritage  of  race;  they 
journeyed  through  the  dark,  unglimmered 
forest. 

Stewart  refused  to  stop  for  meals,  re- 
fused to  stop  for  sleep  at  night,  and  the 
woman  struggled  on  obediently;  what  if 
she  were  tired,  exhausted?  What  if  she 
died — for  she  was  weak  after  days  and 
nights  of  suffering;  was  he  not  her  man, 
he  to  lead  and  she  to  follow — to  the 
death? 

In  the  morning  they  struck  the  creek, 
and  followed  downward  to  the  canyon. 
Here  for  many  moons  the  Stonies  held  the 
sun  dance,  with  its  orgies  and  its  sacri- 
fice, with  its  triumphs  and  disaster  of  des- 
pair. 

Takaho  stopped  at  the  gorge  and  waited 
where  the  gurgle-lacking  river,  with  a 
roar,  dashed  through  the  canyon.  Then, 
as  if  she  had  caught  the  inspiration  from 
the  stream,  she  slowly  turned  about,  and 
crossing  over,  led  the  white  man  to  the 
mountain  on  the  other  side. 

"Hurry,  hurry!"  he  called  impatiently, 
his  fingers  working  as  though  to  clutch 
the  treasure. 

"Ai"  she  answered  proudly  and  tri- 
umphantly, and  stooping  down  beyond  the 
chasm,  scooped  away  the  earth.  Stewart's 
face  was  drawn;  somehow  he  was  in  pain 
— the  face,  the  cry,  the  letter;  aye,  but 
the  ashes,  and  the  waiting  arms,  and  the 
white  breasts  heaving  with  the  pain.  He 
set  the  thin,  hard  lips,  and  clenched  his 
fists,  and  knelt  beside  the  squaw;  aye,  he 
hated  her,  but  the  gold,  the  gold !  She 
lifted  up  a  rock,  and  chipped  the  vein, 
and  the  yellow  glinted  in  the  sunlight. 
"All  way,"  she  said,  "way  long  river,"  and 
she  pointed  far  below  the  canyon.  Stewart 
watched  it,  exultingly.  He  was  in  pain; 
he  had  bartered  off  his  birthright,  bartered 
off  a  woman  and  a  soul,  but,  oh,  God, 
there  was  the  gold,  piles  of  it,  piles  of  it. 
He  grabbed  a  yellow-mottled  piece  of  rock 
she  handed  him  and  almost  kissed  il. 

Again  the  woman  fell  upon  him — her 
man.  Suddenly  the  man's  brows  dark- 
ened :  he  held  the  yellow  to  the  light 
again ;  he  weighed  it  in  his  hand ;  he 
tossed  it  to  and  fro;  he  scratched  it  with 


"FOOL'S  GOLD!"  HK  GNASHED. 


a  knife-point,  and  then  with  one  long,  picture  that  was  almost  gone,  the  birth- 
deep-drawn  curse,  he  hurled  it  to  the  right  he  had  bartered,  and  the  woman  and 
chasm-bed  in  scorn.  the  soul.  "Oh,  Margaret,  Margaret,"  he 

/'s  gold!"  he  gnashed.    "Pyntfes —  moaned,  clutching  blindly  at  the  vision. 

you!"     He   caught   wildly   at   the  "Oh,  God,  you  have  saved  me." 


COWBOYS    ASTRAY 

BY 
HERBERT    COOLIDGE 

DRAWING  BY  W.  R.  DAVENPORT. 


NTONE  GAECIA  and 
Tom  Dunlap  sat  on 
their  blanket  rolls  be- 
side a  lonely  country 
lane,  a  lunch  spread 
out  on  the  grass  be- 
fore them.  They  were 
in  Illinois,  strangers 
in  a  foreign  land. 

"Son-of-agohns,"  growled  Antone, 
reaching  out  a  swarthy,  unwashed  hand 
for  another  piece  of  bread,  "eef  I  bahk 
in  Arizona  I  keel  thaht  fallar.  He  think 
we  trampas;  thay  all  think  we  trampas; 
blahnkets  or  no  blahnkets,  no  de-efronce, 
we  trampas,  ju-ust  the  same." 

"Yes,  if  I'd  been  back  in  Arizona,  I'd 
have  had  a  shot  at  you  for  raising  such  a 
fool  roar  because  the  man  wouldn't  let 
you  come  in  with  your  dirt  and  grime,  and 
eat  with  his  family.  You  ain't  got  the 
sense  of  a  rabbit,  Antone;  when  you  were 
back  in  Arizona  you  never  got  to  put  your 
feet  under  the  same  table  with  the  white 
folks,  and  you  know  it." 

Antone  turned  out  both  hands  and 
raised  his  shoulders  to  make  the  "no  dif- 
ference" gesture  of  the  Mexicans. 

"Ah,  que  carramba,  the  feet  no-o-ole- 
hace,  table  or  ju-ust  ground,  no-le-hace 
to  me.  But  I  want  sometheeng  to  eat;  I 
want  heem  hot.  I  no  lahk  these  hand- 
outs. I  travel  from  El  Paso  to  Phoenix 
and  todos  tiempos  el  ranchero  say,  'Turn 
your  caballo  in  the  field  an'  go  eat  with  the 
boys.  Seguro  qui  si,  they  never  geef  me 
hand-out  in  Arizona." 

"But  you're  not  in  Arizona,  get  that  in- 
to your  head.  These  people  haven't  got 
any  bunk  houses.  You  kick  about  the 
hand-out.  What  do  you  take  it  for?  I 
did  my  prettiest  to  head  the  senorita  off, 
.  and  if  you  hadn't  come  in  with  your  'muy 
hambre'  talk  and  begun  shruggin'  your 
shoulders  and  rabbin'  your  belt,  I  would 


have  got  out  of  there  without  being  put  on 
the  soup-house  list.  1  don't  care  what 
these  old  punkin  rollers  think;  they  can 
put  me  down  as  a  trampa  or  a  horse-thief, 
but  when  it  comes  to  having  their  pretty 
daughters  think  I'm  a  dirt-eatin'  beggar, 
excuse  me.  Antone,  you'd  queer  a  good 
man;  try  to  fight  the  old  gent  and  then 
five  minutes  later  take  a  hand-out  from 
his  daughter." 

Antone  did  not  speak  for  a  few  mo- 
ments ;  he  was  forgetting  the  rancor  of  life 
in  an  onslaught  upon  a  generous  piece  of 
pumpkin  pie. 

"She's  buena  cuke,"  he  said,  compla- 
cently, as  he  stowed  away  the  last  bit  of 
flaky  crust.  "I  theenk  thaht  senorita 
lahk  me,  all  right,  eef  she  see  me  with  no 
wheeskers  and  with  good  horse,  saddle  and 
bridle.  Seguro  qui  si,  I  theenk  she  lahk 
me,  all  right." 

"Ya-a-as,"  said  Tom,  slowly,  and  with 
scorn,  "I  think  she  would  like  you  if  she 
could  see  you  in  your  Arizona  hang-out 
playing  monte  with  that  Digger  Indian 
squaw  of  yourn.  It's  my  plain  duty  to 
get  you  back  there  or  you'll  marry  into 
some  of  these  good  families  and  leave  your 
muchachos  to  starve  in  the  brush." 

Antone,  who  had  finished  eating,  and 
was  turning  all  his  pockets  wrong  side  out, 
made  no  reply  to  this  sally ;  apparently  he 
did  not  hear. 

"Sohn-of-a-ghons,"  he  said  at  last,  with 
grave  concern,  "no  mas  tobacco." 

"Certainly,  no  mas  tobacco.  I'm  dying 
for  a  smoke  myself.  If  you'd  kept  your 
face  shut  when  we  were  at  that  last  ranch- 
house  we'd  be  in  a  fair  way  of  earning 
some  tobacco.  Now  I  tell  you,  Antone, 
I  ain't  a-goin'  to  put  up  with  any  more 
of  your  monkey  business  on  this  trip ;  I'm 
goin'  to  take  charge  of  this  expedition, 
savvy  ?" 

Antone,   with   a   deprecating  shrug   of 


286 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


resignation,  signified  that  he  understood 
very  well  indeed. 

"All  right,  then,"  continued  his  part- 
ner, "turn  over  that  knife  of  yours  first; 
I  ain't  a-going  to  have  you  make  any  more 
knife  plays  on  prospective  bosses.  Now, 
then,  we're  to  go  back  to  that  last  ranch 
and  take  that  job.  The  boss  said  that  he 
had  work  that  needed  doing,  and  I  refuse 
to  die  for  want  of  the  price  of  a  smoke 
just  because  he  got  into  a  row  with  you. 
Get  under  that  bed  now  and  come  on." 

The  American  shut  his  jaws  down  with 
a  snap  as  he  closed  the  sentence  and  eyed 
the  Mexican  fiercely  as  he  obediently 
shouldered  his  blanket  roll  and  stood  in 
readiness  to  travel.  Then  both  men  re- 
traced their  steps  to  the  Johnson  farm 
house. 

The  family  were  sitting  out  on  the 
porch  enjoying  the  summer  gloaming,  but 
began  to  talk  together  nervously,  as  the 
strangers  entered  the  yard. 

"Dora,"  said  the  father,  rising  from 
his  chair,  "go  out  to  the  barn  and  tell 
John  and  Hiram  to  come  to  the  house. 
Mother,  you'd  better  go  inside." 

Tom  Dunlap  left  the  Mexican  at  the 
gate  with  the  strict  injunction  to  stay 
with  the  blankets,  and  went  up  the  path 
alone.  He  noted  the  consternation  of  the 
family  with  scorn,  and  smiled  grimly  be- 
hind his  tawny  mustache. 

"Well,  pardner,"  he  said,  as  he  reached 
the  porch  where  the  farmer  stood  waiting 
to  meet  him,  "I  suppose  you  think  we're 
hobos  for  a  cinch  since  we  took  the  hand- 
out, but  if  you'd  heard  me  cuss  the 
Greaser  for  beginning  to  rub  his  belt 
when  I  had  just  about  lied  out  of  taking 
anything,  you  wouldn't  think  so.  No, 
we're  not  'bos,  and  we've  come  back  to 
take  that  job." 

Deacon  Johnson,  with  ill-concealed  dis- 
approval at  the  frank  admission  of  two 
such  cardinal  sins  as  lying  and  swearing, 
pulled  at  his  whiskers  hesitatingly,  and 
replied : 

"Your  friend  seems  to  be  a  man  of 
violent  temper.  I  don't — • — " 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  Tom  cheer- 
fully; "I  cussed  him  for  that,  too,  and 
took  his  knife  away  and  told  him  that  if 
he  registered  any  more  kicks  on  grub  or 
anything  else  I'd  take  a  shot  at  him.  The 
Mexican  is  all  right;  he's  a  cross  between 


a  Digger  Indian  squaw  and  a  cattle-thief, 
but  he  knows  better  than  to  monkey  with 
me  when  I'm  hostile." 

As  Tom  ceased  speaking,  the  two  stal- 
wart young  farm  hands  came  out  on  the 
porch:  the  girl,  whom  the  farmer  had 
called  Dora,  followed  timidly  and  stood 
just  behind  the  group,  near  her  father. 

Conscious  of  the  reinforcements,  Dea- 
con Johnson  became  severe. 

"Does  your  friend  smoke?" 

"Not  when  he  ain't  got  the  makin's  of 
a  smoke,  he  don't.  No,  I'll  tell  you,  pard- 
ner, you  won't  need  to  lose  any  more  fat 
worrying  about  the  Mexican.  Just  give 
me  a  couple  of  lard  buckets,  a  frying  pan 
and  a  little  grub;  I'll  make  a  camp  back 
in  the  brush  some  place,  and  see  that  he 
don't  bother  nobody." 

"Young  man,"  replied  the  deacon  with 
slow  dignity,  "I  am  afraid  that  I  cannot 
employ  you  or  your  friend.  I've  been 
farming  for  myself  for  twenty  years  and 
more  now,  and  have  never  had  any  but 
Christian  young  men  on  my  premises. 
John  and  Hiram  are  both  members  of  my 
church." 

For  a  moment  the  Arizonan  seemed 
totally  at  a  loss  as  to  how  to  take  this 
statement;  the  three  Christian  farmers 
exchanged  glances  of  firm  self-approval. 
Finally  Tom  hitched  up  his  overalls  ag- 
gressively. ""Well,  I'll  tell  you,  Mister,  if 
I  can't  pitch  twice  as  much  hay  as  any 
Christian  young  man  you  ever  had  on 
the  ranch,  you  needn't  pay  me  a  cent.  I 
have  never  worked  with  any  of  your 
Christian  young  men,  but  I've  got  a 
hunch  that  they  can't  qualify  with  me  for 
a  holy  second.  And  the  Greaser " 

The  Arizonan  was  interrupted  by  the 
Greaser  himself. 

"Que  dice,  Tom?  What  you  say?"  he 
asked. 

Tom,  in  his  anger,  forgot  for  the  mo- 
ment that  the  Mexican  was  supposed  to 
be  with  the  blankets,  and  replied: 

"The  old  gent  was  sayin'  that  he  didn't 
want  nothin'  but  church  men." 

"Que  carramba!"  raising  his  shoulders, 
and  twisting  his  face  with  sympathetic 
consternation,  "thaht  make  eet  bad  for 
you,  no,  Tom?"  Then  his  swarthy  face 
lighted  with  a  bright  idea. 

"But  eet  no  le  hace,  Tom.  I  work  and 
you  keep  camp  till  we  have  bastante 


"YOUNG  MAN  .      .  i  CANNOT  EMPLOY  YOU  OR  YOUR  FRIEND/'' 


288 


OVEKLAND  MONTHLY. 


money  to  go  back  to  Arizona.  I  church 
man,"  he  went  on,  turning  to  the  farmer. 
"I  gude  Catholique." 

The  two  hired  men  snickered  a  little  at 
this;  Deacon  Johnson's  face  hardened, 
and  he  essayed  to  speak,  when  Antone,  in 
anticipation,  went  on  earnestly: 

"Oh,  no,  no!  Tom  bueno  fallar;  he 
no  lahk  church,  but  he  gude  boy  ju-ust 
the  same.  Eef  you  no  lahk  heem  for  that, 
he  keep  camp  por  me  and  I  work.  Se- 
guro  que  si,  Tom  he  cuss  church  todos 
tiempos,  but  he  bueno  pahtnah;  I  chase 
cattle  on  same  ranch  for  cincos  anos. 
Seguro  que  si,  Tom  gude  fallar." 

The  Mexican,  who  had  been  feeling 
nervously  in  all  his  pockets  as  he  spoke, 
now  pulled  out  a  bit  of  brown  paper,  and 
drowning  out  both  Tom  and  the  Deacon 
as  they  attempted  to  speak  in  unison, 
said,  with  his  politest  shrug,  "Sohn-of- 
a-gohns,  I  haff  matches  and  papel  but  yo 
no  tengo  tobahcco.  Senor  haff— 

Antone,  seeing  that  something  was 
wrong,  stopped  abruptly,  and  stood,  un- 
consciously bellying  the  bit  of  cigarette 
paper  into  readiness  to  receive  its  charge 
of  fine-cut,  and  wondering  what  there  was 
about  this  most  natural  of  requests  that 
«ould  not  be  well  taken. 

Tom,  whose  principal  weakness  lay  in 
his  pride  of  being  a  Bob  Ingersoll  man, 
had  been  very  black  and  restless  during 
Iris  swarthy  partner's  apologies  for  his 
attitude  toward  the  Christian  religion, 
but  now  he  left  off  biting  at  the  corners 


of  his  mustache  and  began  to  grin  sheep- 
ishly. Deacon  Johnson,  apparently  be- 
wildered by  the  naive  request  of  •  the  un- 
tamed advocate  of  churches,  seemed  at  a 
loss  for  something  to  say.  For  a  moment, 
the  group  stood  in  embarrassment,  then 
suddenly  there  was  a  stifled  giggle  that 
burst  unexpectedly  into  clear,  girlish 
laughter.  That  broke  the  spell;  even  the 
hard-featured  deacon  laughed  heartily. 

"Father,"  said  the  daughter,  taking  ad- 
vantage of  the  lull  that  followed,  "why 
do  you  not  let  the  men  stay?  They  are 
away  from  home  and  want  to  get  money 
enough  to  get  back  to  Arizona.  It  must 
be  awful  to  be  away  from  home  so  far." 

"That  north  field  has  been  down  a 
week  too  long  now,"  suggested  the  elder 
of  the  farm  hands. 

"Si,  senorita,  in  my  casa  yo  tengo  tree 
Ml  muchachos  who  last  night  say  'papa' 
to  me  when  I  sleep.  And  my  pahtner 
haff  una  senorita." 

"Aw,  cut  that  out,  Antone,"  interrupt- 
ed Tom,  shifting  on  his  feet  very  uneas- 
ily. "You  needn't  eat  any  dirt  for  me. 
This  is  a  business  proposition;  let's  hit 
the  road  if  he  don't  want  us." 

"No,"  said  the  deacon,  "we  can  use 
you  both  in  the  hayfield  to-morrow.  I'd 
like  to  have  you  stay." 

"And  eef  you  'fraid  for  fire,"  put  in 
Antone,  "I  no  smoke;  I  get  some  to- 
bahcco and  chew  heem.  I  no  lahk  heem 
thaht  way,  but  eef  you  'fraid  for  fire,  I 
chew  heem  ju-ust  the  same." 


UNLIMITED    ELECTRIC    POWER 


BY 


BURTOK   WALLACE 


ONDEEFUL  as  are  the 
wireless  telegraph,  the 
Bell  telephone  and  the 
Mergenthaler  typeset- 
ting machine,  which 
set  civilization  for- 
ward nearly  a  century 
within  the  past  de- 
cade, there  comes  now  a  remarkable  in- 
vention, made  practical  and  put  into  op- 
eration for  c6mmercial  use  at  Los  Angeles. 
It  is  called  the  Starr  Wave  Motor. 

Niagara  Falls,  between  the  great  Lake 
Erie  and  the  great  Lake  Ontario,  two  of 
the  five  great  lakes,  has  been  harnessed 
for  man's  use  by  special  permission  of  the 
Governments  of  the  United  States  and 
Canada,  but  it  remained  for  California  to 
take  a  mechanical  appliance  and  run  it 
steadily  night  and  day,  through  storm  and 
calm,  simply  by  the  up  and  down  motion 
of  the  waves  of  the  Pacific  Ocean. 

White  caps  and  gentle  swells,  ebbing 
and  flowing  tides,  are  no  longer  move- 
ments of  the  ocean  to  keep  fishes  alive, 
carry  ships  and  excite  the  wonderment  of 
man,  for  one  man  has  pursued  the  enter- 
prise of  harnessing  the  ocean  waves  until 
success  now  meets  him,  after  thirty  years 
of  hard  struggles  and  privations. 

Mighty  power  houses  are  being  erected 
to  -transmit  this  eeaseless  and  unlimited 
force,  the  first  practical  commercial  plant 
being  put  in  at  Eedondo  Beach,  near  Los 
Angeles  by  the  Los  Angeles  Wave  Power 
and  Electric  Co.  They  have  leased  a  part 
of  the  beach  from  the  Eedondo  Improve- 
ment Company,  one  of  E.  E.  Hunting- 
ton's  companies,  and  are  erecting  a  pier 
and  a  motor  plant  for  the  Starr  Wave 
Motor,  which  will  supply  six  southern 
counties — Los  Angeles,  Orange,  San 
Bernardino,  Eiverside,  Santa  Bar- 
bara and  Ventura — with  all  the  power 
needed  for  factory  or  transportation  pur- 
poses. The  plant  will  necessarily  be  en- 
larged after  a  short  time,  but  its  success 


and  present  commercial  value  can  not  be 
disputed. 

But  first,  let  us  look  at  this  remarkable 
inventor  and  his  more  remarkable  inven- 
tion. Briefly,  it  is  a  part  of  our  education 
in  twentieth  century  progress. 

Mr.  Frederick  Starr,  a  first  class  me- 
chanic, spent  about  twenty  years  in  the 
Pullman  car  shops  near  Chicago  putting 
the  fine  interior  hardwood  finish  in  the 
Pullman  sleeping  cars.  All  this  time  he 
had  a  notion  that  the  up-and-down  motion 
of  the  ocean  waves  could  be  made  to  run 
a  force  in  one  direction  just  the  same  as 
the  piston  of  a  steam  engine  pushes  the 
drivers  forward  or  backward  at  the  will 
of  the  engineer,  the  only  difference  being 
that  one  force  is  horizontal  and  the  other 
perpendicular;  one  worked  by  steam  pres- 
sure, the  other  by  water  power.  Both  are 
practical. 

Mr.  Starr,  in  his  studies  and  experi- 
ments, while  at  the  Pullman  shop,  saw 
that  a  wave  motor  to  be  a  success,  had  to 
be  so  constructed  that  it  would  not  only 
stand  the  worst  storms  of  the  ocean,  but 
also  that  it  must  be  so  sensitive  that  it 
would  receive  the  power  from  the  smallest 
ocean  swell;  consequently,  he  developed 
and  patented  a  machine,  simple  in  con- 
struction, that  will  turn  every  ripple  and 
surging  billow  into  commercial  value. 

Very  small  was  the  first  wooden  model 
of  a  wave  motor  built  by  Mr.  Starr.  The 
appliance  was  worked  by  hand  with  play- 
ing marbles  used  as  rollers,  which  simply 
revolved  the  power  shaft  enough  to  show 
that  the  "clutch"  would  work. 

Larger  was  the  second  model,  also  made 
of  wood,  while  the  third  model  worked  so 
perfectly  in  the  shop  that  it  was  moved  to 
Pier  2,  Mission  street  wharf,  San  Fran- 
cisco, and  there  installed,  and  a  barge  put 
under  the  pier  and  connected  to  the  ma- 
chinery on  the  pier  with  longer  and  heav- 
ier uprights,  and  with  five-eighths  inch 
cables. 


290 


OVEELAND  MONTHLY. 


That  plant  was  operated  by  the  waves 
in  the  bay.  It  worked  grandly,  producing 
electricity  from  August,  1905,  until  Feb- 
ruary, 1907,  when  it  was  dismantled,  be- 
cause it  had  served  its  purpose  and  they 
were  done  with  it.  But  it  had  operated 
successfully  through  all  the  storms  for 
eighteen  months.  One  storm  went  over  the 
bay  in  February,  1906,  that  the  San  Fran- 
cisco papers  said  was  the  worst  storm  for 
over  twenty  years,  and  that  little  model 
of  the  Starr  Wave  Motor,  with  its  barge 
submerged,  worked  through  the  storm  in 
perfect  condition. 

What  this  wonderful  wave  motor  is  can 
be  told  in  a  few  words.  It  consists  of  a 
pier  built  from  the  shore  into  the  ocean 
until  water  is  reached  about  twenty  feet 
deep  at  low  tide.  Under  the  pier  a  barge 
(a  hollow,  flat  boat)  is  anchored  by  an- 
chors placed  in  the  bottom  of  the  ocean 
that  hold  the  barge  so  it  cannot  at  any 
time  touch  any  part  of  the  pier.  That 
barge  is  permitted  to  travel  with  the  ocean 
waves  ten  to  sixteen  feet  in  and  out  (sea- 
ward and  shoreward),  and  two  to  six  feet 
sideways.  These  movements  permit  the 
barge  to  "play  with  the  waves"  and  make 
it  easy  to  hold.  The  barge  is  so  construct- 
ed that  when  a  storm  is  coming  on,  valves 
in  the  bottom  of  the  barge  are  opened,  and 
the  barge  is  filled  with  water,  which,  with 
the  pressure  of  the  machinery,  sinks  the 
barge  enough  to  make  the  storm  waves  and 
breakers  pass  over  the  barge  during  the 
storm.  While  the  barge  is  thus  submerged 
the  wave  motor  continues  to  take  tin 
power  from  the  ocean  swells,  all  that  is  de- 
sired, because  the  movement  of  the  ocean 
at  such  times  is  so  much  greater  that  with 
the  barge  submerged  there  is  yet  all  the 
power  in  the  waves  that  is  wanted.  With 
the  barge  thus  submerged,  it  is  covered 
all  over  with  the  water  that  acts  as  a  cush- 
ion, so  that  in  the  worst  storm  the  power 
is  in  reality  more  regular  and  even  than 
in  ordinary  seas.  When  the  storm  is  over, 
the  water  will  be  blown  out  of  the  barge 
by  compressed  air,  and  then  the  barge 
floats  upon  the  surface  again. 

The  great  importance  of  this  invention 
can  scarcely  be  foretold.  Comparing  it  to 
other  inventions,  we  may  get  a  notion 
of  its  value ;  as,  for  instance,  the  West- 
inghouse  air  break.  Westinghouse  went  to 
Commodore  Vanderbilt,  of  the  New  York 


UNLIMITED  ELECTRIC  POWER. 


291 


Central  Railroad,  to  interest  him,  but  the 
Commodore  said  he  had  "no  time  to 
bother  with  damn  fools  who  proposed  to 
stop  a  train  of  cars  with  wind."  To-day 
the  air-break  is  in  use  all  over  the  world. 
The  same  skepticism  formerly  attached 
to  the  wave  motor,  but  has  been  proven 
baseless. 

The  Starr  Wave  Motor  has  even  a  larger 
field  than  the  air  brake,  because  electric 
power,  heat  and  light  can  be  produced  at 
one-third  the  present  cost. 

It  is  estimated  that  the  power  used  in 
Los  Angeles,  Orange,  Riverside,  San  Ber- 
nardino. Santa  Barbara  and  Ventura 
Counties  is  about  100,000  horse-power. 
That  power  costs  consumers  in  those  six 
counties  an  average  of  about  $100  a  year 
per  horse  power,  while  by  the  wave  motors 
the  same  power  can  be  produced  and  sold 
at  one-third  the  present  prices,  and  still 
make  enormous  profits. 

A  plant  equipped  with  these  wave 
motors  of  50,000  horsepower  capacity 
when  completed  and  in  successful  opera- 
tion with  to-day's  high  prices  for  material 
and  labor,  will  cost  not  to  exceed  $2,500,- 
000.  The  earnings  of  a  50,000  horse- 
power plant  near  Los  Angeles,  selling  elec- 
tricity at  $30  per  horse-power  per  year 


(less  than  one-third  the  present  average 
price),  will  be  $1,500,000  per  year,  which 
is  over  50  per  cent  per  annum  on  the  en- 
tire cost  of  the  plant. 

The  Los  Angeles  Wave  Power  and  Elec- 
tric Company  is  incorporated,  the  follow- 
ing gentlemen  being  among  the  stock- 
holders, the  main  office  being  in  the  H.  W. 
Hellman  building,  Los  Angeles:  W.  E.  B. 
Partridge,  President  of  the  American  En- 
gineering and  Foundry  Co.,  Founders  and 
Machinists,  Los  Angeles;  0.  H.  Mason, 
proprietor  of  the  Up-to-Date  Pattern  Co., 
Pattern  Manufacturers,  Los  Angeles; 
Fred  Pilgrim,  President  of  the  Pilgrim 
Iron  Works,  Founders  and  Machinists, 
Los  Angeles;  J  .  C.  Beach,  Contractor 
and  Builder,  Los  Angeles;  Fred  Starr,  a 
Mechanic  and  Inventor  of  this  Ware  Mo- 
tor, San  Francisco;  J.  H.  Bacon,  Invest- 
ment Banker,  San  Francisco. 

Since  the  force  of  the  ocean  waves  is 
practically  limitless,  it  is  easy  to  see  what 
a  tremendous  thing  the  Starr  Wave  Motor 
is.  That  it  will  follow  the  paths  of  other 
great  inventions  cannot  now  be  disputed. 
It's  capital  stock  is  selling  at  fifty  cents  a 
share,  and  that  colossal  fortunes  will  be 
made,  as  well  as  reducing  the  cost  of 
power  to  consumers,  is  evident. 


DEATH    ON    THE    MARSHES 

BY 
RAYMOND    STJMNEB    BARTLETT 

The  freshness  of  a  summer's  day 

Had  filled  the  heavens  with  sound, 
And  even  the  homely  marsh  flower  smiled 

From  her  rest  in  the  cold,  wet  ground ; 
The  tall  reeds  nodded  and  beck'ed  and  bowed 

To  the  clumps  of  soughing  willows 
And  the  woven  dusks  of  the  lily  blew 

From  her  couch  on  the  watery  pillows. 

Salt  laden  from  the  wide  bayou 

The  glad  breeze  bent  the  rushes, 
Then  marched  along  from  tree  to  tree 

And  kissed  the  trembling  brushes; 
The  wild  shades  blushed  and  quivered  anew, 

'Neath  the  glance  of  the  warm  red  sun, 
For  the  tent  of  heaven's  pavilion  lay  bare 

And  winter's  last  race  was  run. 

A-near  the  marge  of  the  watery  plain, 

Where  the  clamoring,  shambling  sea, 
Breath-laden  from  a  sunnier  south, 

Had  filled  the  willow  wide  lea ; 
One  of  God's  creatures,  a  feathery  form, 

Lay  fast  asleep,  for  its  breast 
Wlas  torn  apart  and  its  sea-free  heart 

Had  sunk  to  its  sylvan  rest. 

The  rising  tide  was  at  its  full 

Along  the  sallow-ridged  shore, 
It  gathered  and  fell  with  a  soughing  swell 

And  a  dull,  retreating  roar: 
Far  out  on  the  channel  a  siren  shrieked, 

And  over  the  dipping  swells, 
Like  a  voice  in  the  dark,  like  a  flickering  spark, 

Came  the  melody  of  the  bells. 

Dear  bird,  athwart  the  marginal  moor 

Thy  fellows  are  flying  free, 
As  glad  as  the  breeze  among  the  trees 

In  their  sea- wide  liberty; 
The  warm  life  throbs  in  their  earth-born  hearts 

Like  the  pulse  of  the  tide  that  swings, 
For  it  quickens  the  beats  in  climes  and  heats 

With  the  fluttering  of  their  wings. 

When  the  wan  West  shivers  above  the  hills 

And  the  purple  of.  night  sweeps  down, 
Even  then  God  knows  each  flower  that  blows 

And  every  soul  that  is  flown ; 
For  the  meanest  flower  in  wood  and  in  bower 

In  meadows  and  fields  and  leas, 
When  withered  and  blown,  when  scattered  and  strown 

O'er  the  crests  of  the  waving  trees, 
Can  hear  his  word,  and  thou,  dear  bird, 

Are  even  more  than  these 


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PUBLIC      OPINION 

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C  0  M  M  E  N  T. 


A   PLEA   FOR    GOOD    ROADS 


OSTE  OF  the  leading  features  of  Eu- 
rope that  impresses  the  tourist  from 
America  is  the  general  excellence  of 
the  roads.  All  over  the  continent,  lead- 
ing from  city  to  city,  from  village  to  vil- 
lage, is  a  labyrinth  of  smooth  road-bed, 
which  enables  the  automobilist  and  the 
bicyclist  to  reach  with  ease  every  little 
town  upon  the  entire  continent. 

This  desirable  condition  of  the  roads 
has  been  accomplished  through  the  public 
spirit  of  the  citizens  of  the  leading  Euro- 
pean countries,  and  through  the  efforts 
of  the  respective  Governments.  As  a  con- 
sequence, thousands  of  auto  fiends  pour 
into  Europe  every  summer  to  take  advan- 
tage of  the  alluring  opportunities  for 
motoring,  and  it  is  reported:  that  they 
spend  from  six  to  eight  million  dollars  at 
the  leading  resorts  in  France  alone. 

Why  should  not  the  United  States  have 
a  system  of  road  beds  just  as  good  as  our 
sister  continent?  Why  should  we  not 
keep  these  millions  of  dollars  wumn  the 
limits  of  our  own  country? 

Why  not  begin  in  California  ?  At  regu- 
lar periods  a  campaign  is  started  for  good 
roads  in  various  sections  of  the  State,  but 
after  a  short  time  the  matter  is  dropped 
and  the  roads  are  neglected.  What  more 
wonderful  trip  could  be  made  than  to 


skim  through  our  fair  State,  starting  at 
the  beautiful  southern  partion  among  the 
orange  groves  and  working  up  to  Los  An- 
geles, thence  through  the  valley  of  the 
San  Joaquin  to  San  Francisco,  along  the 
Calle  Eeal,  and  beyond  into  the  recesses 
of  the  Sacramento  Valley,  skirting  the 
mountain  streams  of  the  Sierra  Nevadas 
and  winding  in  and  out  among  the  big 
trees  and  the  parks  of  the  northern  por- 
tion of  the  State?  Such  a  road  would  be 
unrivaled  in  all  the  world.  If  the  roads 
were  made  better,  there  could  be  a  con- 
tinuous chain  running  to  every  town  of 
consequence  in  the  State,  and  noth